«    *.« 


MON.CA, 


THE    POOL    OF    FLAME 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

'  Terence,'  she  said,  '  I  think  I  am  very 
weary.   Take  me  home  '  "    (Page  350)     Frontispiece 

FACING    PAGE 

"  His  dominant  emotion  of  the  moment,  an  intense 
and  pitiful  solicitude  for  the  dying  man, 
threw  him  off  his  guard"  (Page  250)  .  106 

"  She  was  visibly  armed  and  prepared  against 
danger  in  whatever  form  she  might  have  to 
encounter  it " 254 

"  Grinning  with  anguish,  the  man  .  .  .  stag- 
gered and,  throwing  back  his  arm,  flung  the 
Pool  of  Flame  from  him  with  all  his  might " 
(Page  261)  .  , ,  .  ,.,  .  .  .  .  .  312 


999r 

f^tf^if^si  *j£*  ^J 


CHAPTER 
ONE 

A  STILL  and  sultry  dusk  had  fallen,  closing  an  op- 
pressive, wearing  day:  one  of  those  days  whose  sole 
function  seems  to  reside  in  rendering  us  irritably  con- 
scious of  our  too-close  casings  of  too-solid  flesh ; 
whose  humid  and  inert  atmosphere,  sodden  with 
tepid  moisture,  clings  palpably  to  the  body,  causing 
men  to  feel  as  if  they  crawled,  half-suffocated,  at 
the  bottom  of  a  sea  of  rarefied  water. 

The  hour  may  have  been  eight ;  it  may  have  been 
not  quite  that,  but  it  was  almost  dark.  The  windows 
were  oblongs  black  as  night  in  the  yellow  walls  of 
O'Rourke's  bedchamber  in  the  Hotel  d'Orient,  Monte 
Carlo. 

I  have  the  honour  to  make  known  to  you  the 
O'Rourke  of  Castle  O'Rourke  in  the  county  of  Gal- 
way,  Ireland;  otherwise  and  more  widely  known  as 
Colonel  Terence  O'Rourke;  a  chevalier  of  the 
Legion  of  Honour  of  France;  sometime  an 
officer  in  the  Foreign  Legion  in  Algiers ;  a  wan- 
derer, spendthrift,  free-lance,  cosmopolite — a  gen- 
tleman-adventurer, he's  been  termed. 

He  was  dressing  for  dinner.     The  glare  of  half  a 


3  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

dozen  electric  bulbs  discovered  him  all  but  ready  for 
public  appearance — not,  however,  quite  ready.  In 
his  shirt  sleeves  he  faced  a  cheval-glass,  pluckily  (if 
with  the  haggard  eye  of  exasperation)  endeavouring 
to  outmaneuvre  a  demon  of  inanimate  perversity 
which  had  entered  into  his  dress  tie,  inciting  it  to 
refuse  to  assume,  for  all  his  coaxing  and  his  strata- 
gems, that  affect  of  nonchalant  perfection  so  much 
sought  after,  so  seldom  achieved. 

Patently  was  the  thing  possessed  by  a  devil; 
O'Rourke  made  no  manner  of  doubt  of  that. 
Though  for  minutes  at  a  time  he  fjumbled,  fidgeted, 
fumed,  it  was  without  avail.  Between  whiles — and 
sometimes  for  as  long  as  sixty  seconds — he  had 
recourse  to  guile  and,  ostensibly  giving  over  the  un- 
equal contest,  would  thrust  both  hands  in  his  trouser- 
pockets  and  wander  aimlessly  round  the  room,  en- 
deavouring to  deceive  the  damned  thing  by  assuming 
the  expression  of  an  insouciant  saint  thoroughly  im- 
pregnated with  imperturbable  patience.  A  subter- 
fuge so  transparent  that,  of  course,  it  proved  de- 
servedly profitless. 

His  room  itself  was  in  a  state  of  considerable  dis- 
order— something  due  mainly  to  O'Rourke's  char- 
acteristic efforts  to  find  just  what  he  might  happen 
to  desire  at  any  given  time  without  troubling  to 
think  where  it  ought  properly  to  be.  From  a  coat- 
hanger  hooked  to  the  chandelier  hung  a  dressing- 
gown,  giddily  beflowered.  Upon  the  bed,  in  the 


CHAPTER    ONE  3 

centre  of  an  immaculate  spread,  a  pair  of  boots, 
spurred  and  dusty,  reposed  with  an  air  of  fatigued 
abandon.  Their  trees  stood  upon  a  mantel,  with  a 
rakish  air  of  masquerading  as  vases  without  much 
caring  whether  or  not  the  disguise  were  successful. 
From  out  a  shallow,  curtained  alcove,  intended  for 
use  as  a  clothes-closet,  coats  of  all  imaginable  cuts 
and  materials  had  flown  wildly  to  every  point 
of  the  compass  in  a  singularly  successful  endeavour 
to  escape  association  with  their  respective  waist- 
coats and  trousers.  Surrounded  by  a  miniature  ava- 
lanche of  shirts,  an  open  trunk  in  the  corner  con- 
veyed a  vivid  impression  of  having  recently  been  in 
violent  eruption.  A  surprising  assortment  of  col- 
lars, together  with  neckties  in  rainbow-hued  multi- 
tudes, had  cascaded  from  the  open  drawers  of  a 
bureau.  A  battalion  of  boots  and  shoes  cluttered 
the  floor,  wearing  a  guilty  look  as  of  having  been 
arrested  in  the  act  of  a  simultaneous  stampede  for 
freedom. 

Something  of  this  confusion,  mirrored  in  the  glass, 
was  likewise  reflected  in  O'Rourke's  eyes,  what  time 
he  paused  for  breath  and  profanity.  "  Faith,  'tis 
worse  than  a  daw's  nest,  the  place,"  he  admitted, 
scandalised.  "  How  ever  did  I — one  lone  man — do 
all  that,  will  ye  be  telling  me?  "  He  flung  out  two 
helpless  baffled  hands,  and  let  them  fall.  After  a 
meditative  pause  he  added :  "  Damn  that  Alsatian ! " 
— with  reference  to  his  latest  and  least  competent 


4  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

valet,  who  had  but  recently  been  discharged  with  a 
flea  in  his  ear  and  a  month's  unearned  wage  in  his 
pocket.  "  For  knowing  me  ways,"  sighed  O'Rourke, 
"  there  was  never  anyone  the  like  of  Danny." 

For  as  many  as  three  livelong  days  this  man  had 
been  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  dressing  himself 
with  his  own  fair  hands — and  that  at  least  thrice 
daily,  who  did  nothing  by  halves.  And,  somehow, 
mysteriously,  his  discarded  garments  had  for  the 
most  part  remained  where  he  had  thrown  them, 
despite  the  earnest  efforts  of  the  femme  de  chambre 
to  restore  something  resembling  order  from  this 
man-made  chaos.  For  servants  all  liked  well  the 
O'Rourke,  improvident  soul  that  he  was,  freehanded 
to  a  fault. 

You  are  invited  to  picture  to  yourself  O'Rourke 
as  invariably  he  was  in  one  of  his  not  infrequent  but 
ever  transient  phases  of  affluence:  that  is,  a  very 
magnificent  figure  indeed.  Standing  a  bit  over  six 
feet,  deep  of  chest  and  lean  of  flank,  with  his  long, 
straight  legs  he  looked  what  he  had  been  meant  to 
be,  a  man  of  arms  and  action.  His  head  was  shapely, 
its  dark  hair  curling  the  least  in  the  world ;  and,  in- 
eradicably  stained  a  transparent  brown,  his  features 
were  lean,  eager,  and  rendered  very  attractive  by 
quick  boyish  eyes  in  whose  warm  blue-grey  depths 
humour  twinkled  more  often  than  not — though  those 
same  eyes  were  not  seldom  thoughtful,  a  trace  wist- 
ful, perhaps,  with  the  look  of  one  who  recalls  dear 


CHAPTER    ONE  5 

memories,  old  friends  and  .sweethearts  loved  and  lost. 
For  he  had  begun  to  live  early  in  life  and 
had  much  to  look  back  upon,  though  for  all  that  it's 
doubtful  if  he  were  more  than  thirty  at  the  time  he 
became  involved  in  the  fortunes  of  the  Pool  of  Flame. 
For  the  rest  of  him,  barring  the  refractory  tie  the 
man  was  strikingly  well-groomed,  while  his  sur- 
roundings spoke  for  comfortable  circumstances.  On 
the  authority  of  the  absent  and  regretted  Danny, 
who  had  long  served  the  O'Rourke  in  the  intimate 
capacities  of  body-servant,  confidant  and  chancellor 
of  the  exchequer  (this  last,  of  course,  whenever  there 
happened  to  be  any  exchequer  to  require  a  chancel- 
lor), there  was  never  anyone  at  all  who  could  spend 
money  or  wear  clothes  like  himself,  meaning  the 
master.  And  at  this  time  O'Rourke  was  ostensibly 
in  funds  and  consequently  (as  the  saying  runs)  cut- 
ting a  wide  swath.  Heaven  and  himself  only  knew 
the  limits  of  his  resources ;  but  his  manner  a  Monte 
Cristo  might  have  aped  to  advantage.  His  play 
was  a  wonder  of  the  Casino ;  for  the  matter  of  that, 
his  high-handed  and  extravagant  ways  had  made 
the  entire  Principality  of  Monaco  conscious  of  his 
presence  in  the  land.  And  you  fail  in  the  least  to 
understand  the  nature  of  the  man  if  you  think  for  a 
moment  that  it  irked  him  to  be  admired,  pointed 
out,  courted,  pursued.  He  was,  indeed,  never  so 
splendid  as  when  aware  that  he  occupied  the  public 
eye.  In  short,  he  was  just  an  Irishman.  .  .  .  So, 


6  THE   POOL   OF  FLAME 

then,  it's  nothing  wonderful  that  he  should  seem  a 
thought  finical  about  the  set  of  his  tie. 

Now  as  he  stood  scowling  at  his  image,  and  wish- 
ing from  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he  had  never  been 
fool  enough  to  let  Danny  leave  him,  and  calling 
fervent  blessings  down  upon  the  head  of  the  fiend 
who  first  designed  modern  evening-dress  for  men — 
he  found  himself  suddenly  with  a  mind  divested  of 
any  care  whatever  and  attentive  alone  to  a  sound 
which  came  to  him  faintly,  borne  upon  the  heavy 
wings  of  the  sluggish  evening  air.  It  was  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  a  woman  singing  softly  to  her- 
self (humming  would  probably  be  the  more  accurate 
term),  and  it  was  merely  the  tune  that  caught 
his  fancy ;  a  bit  of  an  old  song  he  himself  had 
once  been  wont  to  sing,  upon  a  time  when  he  had 
been  a  happier  man.  It  seemed  strange  to  hear  it 
there,  stranger  still  that  the  woman's  voice,  indis- 
tinct as  it  was,  should  have  such  a  familiar  ring  in 
his  memory.  He  frowned  in  wonder  and  shook  his 
head.  "  The  age  of  miracles  is  past,"  he  muttered ; 
"  'twould  never  be  herself.  I've  had  me  chance — and 
forfeited  it.  'Twill  not  come  to  me  a  second 
time.  .  .  ." 

The  singing  ceased.  Of  a  sudden  O'Rourke  swore 
with  needless  heat,  and,  plucking  away  the  offending 
tie,  cast  it  savagely  from  him.  "  The  divvle  fly  away 
with  ye !  "  he  cried.  "  Is  it  bent  on  driving  me  mad 
ye  are?  I'd  give  me  fortune  to  have  Danny  back! 


CHAPTER    ONE  7 

.  .  .  Me  fortune — faith !  "  He  laughed  the  word 
to  bitterest  scorn.  "  "Tis  meself  that  never  had  the 
least  of  anything  like  that  without  'twas  feminine — * 
with  a  '  mis-'  tacked  onto  the  front  of  it ! "  And 
he  strode  away  to  the  window  to  cool  off. 

It  was  like  him  to  forget  his  exasperation  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye;  another  mood  entirely  swayed 
him  by  the  time  he  found  himself  gazing  out  into  the 
vague,  velvety  dusk  that  momentarily  was  closing 
down  upon  the  fairy-like  panorama  of  terraced  gar- 
dens and  sullen,  silken  sea.  His  thoughts  had 
winged  back  to  that  dear  woman  of  whom  that  frag- 
ment of  melody  had  put  him  in  mind;  and  he  was 
sighing  and  heavy  of  heart  with  longing  for  the 
sight  of  her  and  the  touch  of  her  hand. 

Even  as  he  watched,  stark  night  fell,  black  as  a 
pocket  beneath  a  portentous  pall  of  cloud.  .  .  . 
Far  out  upon  the  swelling  bosom  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean a  cluster  of  dim  lights  betrayed  a  stealthy 
coasting  steamer,  making  westwards.  Nearer,  in 
the  harbour,  a  fleet  of  pleasure  craft,  riding  at  an- 
chor on  the  still,  dark  tide,  was  revealed  in  many 
faint,  wraith-like  shapes  of  grey,  all  studded  with 
yellow  stars.  Ashore,  endless  festoons  of  coloured 
lamps  draped  the  gloom  of  the  terraces ;  the  f a9ade 
of  the  Casino  stood  out  lurid  against  the  darkness; 
the  hotels  shone  with  reflected  brilliance,  the  palace 
of  the  Prince  de  Monaco  loomed  high  upon  the 
peninsula,  its  elevations  picked  out  with  lines  of  soft 


8  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

fire.  .  .  .  Voices  of  men  with  the  gay  discreet 
laughter  of  women  drifted  up  to  him,  blended  with 
syncopated  strains  from  invisible  orchestras.  And 
in  the  night  air,  saturated  with  the  heavy  perfume 
of  exotic  blooms,  there  was  the  warning  of  rain  be- 
fore dawn.  .  .  . 

The  O'Rourke  shook  his  head,  condemning  it  all. 
"'Tis  beautiful,"  he  said;  "faith,  yes!  'tis  all  of 
that.  But  I'm  thinking  'tis  too  beautiful  to  be  good 
for  one — like  some  women  I've  known  in  me  time. 
'Tis  not  good  for  Terence — that's  sure;  'tis  the 
O'Rourke  that's  going  stale  and  soft  with  all  this 
easy  living.  .  .  .  Me  that  has  more  than  many 
another  to  live  for  and  hope  for  and  strive  for! 
.  And  I'm  lingering  here  in  the  very  lap  of 
luxury,  stuffing  meself  with  rare  food,  befuddling 
meself  with  rarer  wines — me  that  has  fought  a  day 
and  a  night  and  half  a  day  atop  of  that  on  nothing 
and  a  glass  of  muddy  water! — risking  me  money  as 
if  there  was  no  end  to  it,  throwing  it  away  in  scan- 
dalous tips  like  any  drunken  sailor!  And  all  for  the 
(scant  satisfaction  of  behaving  like  a  fool  of  an  Irish- 
man. .  .  .  'Tis  sickening — disgusting;  naught 
less.  .  .  .  I'm  thinking  this  night  ends  it, 
though;  come  the  morning  I'll  be  pulling  up  stakes 
and  striking  out  for  a  healthier,  simpler  place,  where 
there's  something  afoot  a  man  can  take  an  interest  in 
without  losing  his  self-respect.  .  .  .  I'll  do  just 
that,  I  will!" 


CHAPTER   ONE  9 

This  he  meant,  firmly,  and  was  glad  of  it,  with  a 
heart  immeasurably  lightened  by  the  strength  of  his 
good  resolution.  He  began  to  hum  the  old  tune  that 
the  unknown  woman's  voice  had  set  buzzing  in  his 
brain,  and  broke  off  to  snap  his  fingers  defiantly  at 
the  Casino.  "  That  for  ye  1 "  he  flouted  it—"  sit- 
ting there  with  your  painted  smile  and  your  cold 
eyes,  like  the  brazen  huzzy  ye  are — Goddess  of 
Chance,  indeed! — thinking  ye  have  but  to  bide  your 
time  for  all  men  to  come  and  render  up  their  souls 
to  ye !  Here's  once  that  ye  lose,  madam ;  after  this 
night  I'm  done  with  ye;  not  a  sou  of  mine  will  ever 
again  cross  your  tables.  I'll  have  ye  to  understand 
the  O'Rourke's  a  reformed  character  from  the  morn- 
ing on ! " 

He  laughed  softly,  in  high  feather  with  his  con- 
ceit; and,  thinking  cheerfully  of  the  days  of  move- 
ment and  change  that  were  to  follow,  the  song  in 
his  heart  shaped  itself  in  words  upon  his  lips. 

"I'm  Paddy  Whack 
From  Ballyhack, 
Not  long  ago  turned  soldier — O 
At  grand  attack, 
Or  storm  or  sack, 
None  than  I  will  prove  bolder — O!" 

His  voice  was  by  way  of  being  a  tenor  of  toler- 
able quality  and  volume,  but  untrained — nothing 
wonderful.  It  was  just  the  way  he  trolled  out  the 


10  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

rollicking  stanza  that  rendered  it  infectious,  irre- 
sistible. For  as  he  paused  the  voice  of  the  woman 
that  had  reminded  him  of  the  song  capped  the  verse 
neatly. 

"  An'  whin  we  get  the  route 
Wid  a  shout, 
How  they  pout! 
Wid  a  ready  right-about 

Goes    the   bould   soldier-boy!" 

O'Rourke  caught  his  breath,  startled,  stunned. 

"  It  can't  be !  "  he  whispered.  For  if  at  first 

her  voice,  subdued  in  distance,  had  stirred  his  mem- 
ory with  a  touch  as  vague  and  thrilling  as  the  caress 
of  a  woman's  hand  in  darkness,  now  that  he  heard 
the  full  strength  of  that  soprano,  bell-clear  and  spir- 
ited, he  was  sure  he  knew  the  singer.  He  told  him- 
self that  there  could  be  no  two  women  in  the  world 
with  voices  just  like  that;  not  another  than  her  he 
knew  could  have  rendered  the  words  with  so  true  a 
spirit,  so  rare  a  brogue — tinged  as  that  had  been 
with  the  faintest,  quaintest  exotic  inflection  imag- 
inable. 

But  she  had  stopped  with  the  verse  half  sung. 
His  pulses  quickening,  O'Rourke  leaned  forth  from 
the  window  and  carried  it  on : 

"  O,  'tis  thin  the  ladies  fair 
In  despair 
Tear  their  hair! 

But— "Tis  divvle  a  bit  I  care!' 
Cries  the  bould  soldier-boy !  " 


CHAPTER    ONE  11 

There  fell  a  pause.  He  listened  with  his  heart  in 
his  mouth,  but  heard  nothing.  And  it  seemed  impos- 
sible to  surmise  whence,  from  which  of  all  the  rooms 
with  windows  opening  upon  that  side  of  the  hotel, 
had  come  the  voice  of  the  woman.  She  might  as 
well  have  been  above  as  below  him,  or  on  either  side : 
he  could  not  guess.  But  he  was  determined. 

Now  there  was  beneath  his  window  a  balcony  with, 
a  floor  of  wood  and  a  rail  of  iron-filigree — a  long 
balcony,  extending  from  one  corner  of  the  hotel  to 
the  other.  At  intervals  it  was  splashed  with  light 
from  the  windows  of  chambers  still  occupied  by 
guests  belatedly  busy,  like  himself,  with  the  task  of 
dressing  for  the  evening.  The  window  to  his  left 
was  alight ;  that  on  his  right,  dark.  With  half  his 
body  on  the  balcony,  his  legs  dangling  within  the 
room,  O'Rourke  watched  the  opening  on  his  left  with 
jealous,  breathless  expectancy.  Not  a  sound  came 
therefrom.  He  hesitated. 

"  If  that  weren't  her  room,  I'd  hear  somebody 
moving  about,"  he  reasoned.  "  'Tis  frightened  she 
is — not  suspecting  'tis  me.  .  .  .  But  how  do  I 
know  'tis  herself?  .  .  .  Faith!  could  me  ears  de- 
ceive me?  " 

With  that  he  took  heart  of  hope  and  broke  man- 
fully into  the  chorus,  singing  directly  to  the  lighted 
window,  singing  the  first  line  with  ardour  and  fer- 
vour, with  confidence  and  with  hope,  singing  persua- 
sively, pleadingly,  anxiously,  insistently. 


IS  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

"  For  the  worrld  is  all  befo^ore  us " 

lie  sang,  then  paused.  He  heard  no  echo.  And 
again  he  essayed,  with  that  in  his  tone  to  melt  a 
heart  of  ice: 

"  For  the  worrld  is  all  befo-ore  us " 

And  now  he  triumphed  and  was  lifted  out  of  him- 
self with  sheer  delight;  for  from  the  adjoining  room 
came  the  next  line : 

"  And  landladies  ado-ore  us " 

Unable  to  contain  himself,  he  chimed  in,  and  in 
•duet  they  sang  it  out  to  the  rousing  finale : 

"They  ne'er  rayfuse  to  sco-ore  us, 
But  chalk  us  up  wid  joy! 

We  taste  her  tap,  we  tear  her  cap 

*  O,  that's  the  chap 

For  me,'  cries  she 

'  Whir oo  I 
Isn't  he  the  darlint,  the  bould  soldier-boy ! '  " 

As  the  last  note  rang  out  and  died,  the  next  win- 
dow was  darkened;  the  woman  had  switched  off  the 
lights.  He  heard  a  faint  rustle  of  silken  ruffles. 
'  'Tis  herself,"  he  declared  in  an  agony  of  antici- 
pation— "herself  and  none  other!  And  I'm  think- 
ing she'll  be  coming  to  the  window  now " 

He  was  right.     Abruptly  he  discovered  her  by 


CHAPTER    ONE  13- 

the  reflected  glow  from  the  illumination  behind  him. 
He  was  conscious  of  the  pallid  oval  of  her  face,  of 
a  sleek  white  sheen  of  arms  and  shoulders,  of  a 
dark  mass  of  hair,  but  more  than  all  else  of  the 
glamour  of  eyes  that  shone  into  his  softly,  like  limpid 
pools  of  darkness  touched  by  dim  starlight. 

Inflamed,  he  leaned  toward  her.  "  Whist,  darl- 
ing !  "  he  stammered.  "  Whist !  'Tis  myself — 'tis 
Terence " 

But  she  was  gone.  A  low,  stifled  laugh  was  all 
his  answer — that  and  the  silken  whisper  of  her 
skirts  as  she  scurried  from  the  window.  He  flushed 
crimson,  waited  an  instant,  then  flung  discretion  to 
the  winds,  and  found  himself  scrambling  out  upon 
the  balcony.  Heaven  only  knows  to  what  lengths 
the  man  would  have  gone  had  not  the  slam  of  a 
door  brought  him  up  standing;  she  had  left  her 
room! 

So  she  thought  to  escape  him  so  easily !  He  swore 
between  his  teeth  with  excitement  and  tumbled  back 
whence  he  had  come.  Regardless  of  the  fact  that  he 
was  still  in  his  shirt-sleeves  he  rushed  madly  for  the 
door.  On  the  way  a  shooting- j  acket  on  the  floor, 
perhaps  in  revenge  for  neglect  and  ill-treatment, 
maliciously  wound  itself  round  his  feet  and  all  but 
threw  him  headlong;  only  a  frantic  clutch  at  the 
footrail  of  the  bed  saved  him.  Kicking  the  thing 
savagely  off  he  flung  himself  upon  the  door  and 
threw  it  open.  His  jaw  dropped. 


14  THE   POOL   OF  FLAME 

The  lift  shaft  was  directly  opposite.  Before  it, 
in  more  or  less  patient  waiting,  stood  a  very  young 
and  beautiful  woman  in  a  gown  whose  extreme  can- 
dour was  surpassed  only  by  the  perfection  of  its  de- 
sign and  appointment — both  blatant  of  the  Rue  de 
la  Paix;  a  type  as  common  to  the  cognoscenti  of 
Monte  Carlo  as  the  Swiss  hotel  porters.  But 
O'Rourke  did  not  know  her  from  Eve. 

"  The  divvle ! "  said  he  beneath  his  breath. 

He  was  mistaken ;  but  the  young  woman,  at  first 
startled  by  his  unceremonious  appearance,  on  in- 
stantaneous second  thought  decided  to  permit  him  to 
discover  that  twin  imps,  at  least,  resided  in  her 
eyes.  And  when  his  disappointment  prevented  him 
from  recognising  them,  her  dawning  smile  was  swiftly 
erased  and  her  ascending  eyebrows  spoke  eloquently 
enough  of  her  haughty  displeasure.  Synchronously 
the  lift  hesitated  at  that  landing  and  the  gate 
clanged  wide;  the  young  woman  wound  her  skirts 
about  her  and  showed  him  a  back  which  at  any  other 
time  would  have  evoked  his  unstinted  admiration. 
Then  the  gate  shot  to  with  a  rattle  and  bang,  and 
the  lift  dropped  out  of  sight,  leaving  the  man  with 
mouth  agape  and  eyes  as  wide. 

A  beaming  but  elderly  femme  de  chambre  on  duty 
in  the  corridor,  remarking  O'Rourke's  pause  of 
stupefied  chagrin,  hoped  and  believed  he  needed  her 
services.  She  bore  down  upon  him,  accordingly. 

"M'sieu'  is  desirous  of ?" 


CHAPTER    ONE  15 

He  came  out  of  his  trance.  "  Nothing,"  he  told 
her  with  acid  brevity.  "  But,  yes,"  he  reconsidered 
with  haste.  "  That  lady  who  but  this  moment  took 
the  lift — her  name?  " 

"  Her  name,  m'sieu'  ?     Ma'm'selle  Voltaire." 

"  Impossible ! "  he  told  himself  aloud,  utterly  un- 
able to  forge  any  connecting  link  between  the  lady 
in  the  lift  and  her  whose  voice  had  bewitched  him. 

"  But  assuredly,  m'sieu'.  Do  I  not  know — I  who 
have  waited  upon  her  hand  and  foot  these  three  days 
and  to  whom  she  has  not  given  as  much  as — that." 
The  woman  ticked  a  fingernail  against  her  strong 
white  teeth.  "  Ma'm'selle  Victorine  Voltaire,"  she 
asserted  stubbornly. 

"  Of  the  Folies,  I  daresay,"  he  suggested,  ab- 
stracted. 

"Or  Maxim's,  m'sieu' — or  of  where?  Who 
knows  ?  "  A  shrug  as  expressive  as  its  accompany- 
ing moue  deprecated  the  social  standing  of  the  lady 
in  question  so  absolutely  that,  forthwith,  she  had  less 
than  none. 

"  Oh,  well — plague  take  'em  both !  "  O'Rourke 
fumbled  in  his  pocket  and  found  a  golden  ten-franc 
piece,  surrendering  it  to  the  woman  as  heedlessly  as 
though  it  had  been  as  many  centimes.  "  I'll  be  leav- 
ing me  room  in  five  minutes,  now.  And  do  ye,  for 
the  love  of  Heaven,  me  dear,  try  to  set  me  things 
the  least  trifle  to  rights.  Will  ye  now,  like  the  best 
little  girl  in  the  world?  " 


16  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

The  best  little  girl  in  the  world,  who  was  forty- 
five  if  a  day,  promised  miracles — with  a  bob  of  a 
courtesy.  But  so  disgruntled  was  O'Rourke  that 
he  shut  his  door  in  her  face. 

"  'Tis  meself  that's  the  fool,"  he  said,  savagely 
enough,  "  to  think  for  a  moment  that  ever  again  I'd 
set  me  eyes  on  her  pretty  face — God  bless  it,  wher- 
ever she  may  be !  .  .  .  For  why  should  I  deserve 
to — I,  the  penniless  adventurer?  " 


CHAPTER 
TWO 

AFTER  that  bitter  disappointment  his  interest  in 
his  personal  appearance  dwindled  to  the  negligible. 
In  a  black  temper  with  himself  (whom  alone  he 
blamed  for  the  deception  to  which  he  had  fallen  too 
facile  a  victim)  he  searched  blindly  for  a  fresh  tie, 
found  it  somehow,  and  knotted  it  round  his  collar 
in  the  most  haphazard  fashion  imaginable.  Then 
he  shrugged  a  dress  coat  upon  his  shoulders  and 
marched  forth  to  dine. 

Because  he  held  the  cuisine  of  the  Hotel  d'Orient 
in  abomination,  he  elected  to  make  his  meal  nowhere 
else,  thus  proving  to  himself  conclusively  that  he 
didn't  care  what  happened  to  him  now.  Who  was 
he,  anyhow — the  rough  soldier  of  fortune — to  be 
finding  fault  with  the  food  that  was  set  before  him, 
or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  the  drink  either — so  long 
as  there  was  enough  of  both? 

In  this  humour  he  propelled  himself  with  deter- 
mination into  the  public  restaurant  of  the  establish- 
ment and,  oblivious  to  the  allure  of  many  a  pair  of 
bright  eyes  that  brightened  all  too  readily  to  chal- 
lenge his,  insisted  upon  a  table  all  to  himself  and 

17 


18  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

dined  in  solitary  grandeur,  comporting  himself 
openly  as  a  morose  and  misunderstood  person,  and 
to  his  waiter  with  a  manner  so  nearly  rude  that  the 
latter  began  almost  to  respect  him. 

After  some  time  he  was  disgusted  to  discover  that 
he  felt  better.  An  impulse  toward  analysis  led  him 
to  probe  the  psychology  of  the  change,  with  the  re- 
sult that  he  laid  the  blame  for  it  at  the  door — or 
the  neck — of  a  half-bottle  of  excellent  burgundy. 
So  he  ordered  another  and,  resolutely  dismissing 
from  his  mind  the  woman  who  had  no  right  whatever 
to  be  able  to  sing  a  certain  song  the  way  she  had, 
set  his  wits  to  work  on  the  riddle  of  To-morrow. 

To  a  man  whose  trade  was  fighting,  the  world 
just  then  was  a  most  distressful  place,  too  peaceful 
entirely.  In  no  quarter  of  it  to  which  his  mind 
turned  in  longing  and  hopeful  inquiry,  in  no  land 
however  remote  or  the  contrary,  savage  or  tame, 
could  he  detect  symptoms  of  anything  resembling  a 
rumpus  worthy  his  attention,  his  ambition,  or  his 
recognised  abilities.  South  America  he  pondered 
only  briefly,  dismissing  it  with  a  contemptuous 
shake  of  the  head.  While  as  for  the  Balkans — pouff 
— the  Balkans  never  burgeoned  with  the  black  flower 
of  their  grim  promise;  a  man  who  waited  for  the 
Balkans  to  get  down  to  business  would  grow  as 
rusty  and  stiff  as  a  condemned  magazine-gun. 
Africa?  It  was  true,  according  to  rumour  at  least, 
that  the  French  were  enjoying  their  annual  differ- 


CHAPTER    TWO  19 

ence  of  opinion  with  the  Touaregg,  somewhere  south 
of  Biskra ;  but  that  could  be  nothing  more  than  an 
insignificant  border  war,  in  which  an  honest  mer- 
cenary would  profit  scantily  if  at  all.  Indeed,  it 
was  the  opinion  of  the  O'Rourke,  who  knew  the 
Touaregg  of  old,  that  the  French  got  small  change 
from  them ;  though  the  converse  was  likewise  true ; 
the  desert  people  were  chiefly  useful  in  that  they 
provided  excellent  training  for  the  conscripts  of 
France.  In  Asia  only  India  rumbled ;  and  O'Rourke 
— perhaps  fatuously — held  with  the  English  that 
the  foreboded  eruption,  however  inevitable,  would  be 
long  in  coming.  .  .  .  Alack!  where  might  a  man 
turn  to  find  honourable  fighting,  honest  loot? 

Over  his  coffee  the  adventurer  nodded  in  despair 
and  frowned  in  disgust ;  then  rousing,  he  summoned 
the  waiter  and  paid  his  reckoning  with  a  secret  grin 
at  himself,  a  fifty-franc  note  and  a  gesture  which 
splendidly  obliterated  altogether  every  trace  of  sus- 
picion that  he  intended  to  take  back  any  part  of 
the  change  due  him. 

Trimming  and  lighting  a  cigar,  he  reviewed  the 
restaurant  with  a  listless  eye  which  discovered  no 
one  of  his  acquaintance;  therefore,  with  neither 
haste  nor  waste  of  time,  he  rose  and  betook  himself 
to  the  Casino — that  is,  to  the  one  place  where  one 
may  feel  certain  of  encountering,  sooner  or  later, 
everybody  who  is  anybody  within  the  bounds  of  the 
principality. 


20  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

In  the  lobby  he  was  passed  with  effusion  by  at- 
tendants to  whom  he  was  but  too  well  known.  As 
has  been  remarked,  O'Rourke  never  cut  a  modest 
figure;  and  he  had  now  been  for  ten  consecutive 
nights  conspicuous  at  the  tables  in  the  salles  de  jeu, 
where  his  luck  was  popularly  deemed  phenomenal. 
For  he  had  played  like  a  prince  or  a  prodigal,  with 
so  easy  a  hand  and  a  demeanour  so  carefree,  that 
gossip  credited  him  with  one  of  three  diverse  dis- 
tinctions: he  was  either  a  prince  incognito,  a  de- 
faulting bank  president,  or  the  titled  husband  of 
an  American  girl.  Indeed  it's  probable  that  the 
ease  with  which  he  manipulated  his  money  blinded 
the  envious  to  the  fact  that  he  lost  as  much,  if  not 
as  frequently,  as  he  won ;  so  that  only  to  himself,  to 
those  astute  accountants  the  croupiers  and  those 
aloof  financiers  who  skulk  behind  the  nom  de  guerre 
of  the  S  octet  e  Anonyme  des  Bains  de  Mer  et  du 
Cercle  des  Etrangers  &  Monaco  was  it  known  that 
he  had  been  lucky  mainly  in  not  losing  all  that  he 
possessed. 

This  night,  more  particularly  than  on  any  pre- 
ceding it,  now  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  seek  betterment  of  his  fortunes  elsewhere,  he  played 
heedlessly,  little  concerned  with  the  fate  of  what 
money  he  had  about  him.  He  had  set  aside  a  re- 
serve fund  sufficient  to  settle  his  hotel  bill  and  carry 
him  a  considerable  distance  into  the  unknown  which 
he  was  resolved  to  beard,  and  was  resigned  to  lose 


CHAPTER    TWO  21 

the  remainder.  It  was  a  tenet  of  his  creed  of  fatalism 
that  chance  seldom  favoured  him  when  he  had  money 
in  his  pockets ;  the  tide  of  his  affairs  must  be  at 
its  lowest  ebb  ere  it  turned.  His  policy  then  was 
obvious — childishly  plain :  he  must  fling  to  the  winds 
all  that  which  he  had. 

In  so  far  as  he  thought  of  the  matter  at  all,  this 
was  the  man's  humour  of  the  moment.  No  apology 
or  explanation  is  attempted;  to  essay  aught  in  ex- 
tenuation of  his  frequent  follies  were  bootless.  It 
has  already  been  insisted  upon  that  he  was  an  Irish- 
man. 

Now  never  was  there  a  man  who  played  to  lose 
who  didn't  win  his  point.  Colonel  O'Rourke's  case 
can  be  cited  as  no  exception  to  this  rule.  Elbow  to 
elbow  on  one  side  with  an  artless  old  lady  from  Terre 
Haute,  who  risked  her  minimums  with  the  ferocious 
jealousy  of  a  miser  making  an  unsecured  loan,  on 
the  other  with  an  intent  little  Austrian  gambler  ab- 
sorbed in  the  workings  of  his  "system,"  the  adven- 
turer scattered  gold  upon  the  numbered  and  illu- 
minated gridiron  as  unconcernedly  as  though  he 
had  been  matching  shillings,  and  ^saw  the  coins 
gathered  in  by  the  greedy  rake  as  often  as  the  little 
ivory  ball  ceased  to  chatter  on  the  wheel. 

For  the  better  part  of  an  hour  this  continued. 
And  the  little  group  of  sycophants  which  had  gath- 
ered behind  his  chair  to  watch  his  play  insensibly 
dissipated.  A  whisper  ran  through  the  ranks  of  the 


22  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

habitues  that  the  luck  of  the  mad  Irishman  had 
turned;  and  forthwith  he  ceased  to  be  an  object  of 
interest.  Only  the  little  Austrian,  having  risked 
the  number  of  stakes  prescribed  by  his  system  for 
one  evening's  play,  put  away  his  note-book  and  pen- 
cil and,  surrendering  his  place  to  another,  lingered 
behind  O'Rourke's  chair,  unable  to  resist  the  fas- 
cination of  watching  a  man  who  could  at  once  lose 
money  and  retain  his  composure. 

At  length,  inexpressibly  bored  and  too  impatient 
to  defer  the  inevitable  by  niggardly  wagers, 
O'Rourke  ransacked  his  pockets  and  placed  the  pro- 
ceeds— several  hundred  francs — I  am  as  ignorant  of 
the  amount  as  he  was  indifferent  to  it — upon  the  red. 

There  fell  a  lull,  the  croupier  holding  the  wheel  to 
permit  an  unbaked  cub  of  Chicago  millions  to  cover 
the  cloth  with  stakes  too  numerous  for  his  half- 
developed  intelligence  to  keep  count  of ;  and  the  ad- 
venturer shifted  in  his  seat,  reviewing  the  assem- 
blage. For  some  moments,  through  the  mysterious 
working  of  that  sixth  sense  which  men  are  pleased 
vaguely  to  denominate  intuition,  he  had  been  sub- 
consciously aware  of  being  the  object  of  some  per- 
son's fixed  regard,  that  somebody  was  not  only 
watching  but  weighing  him.  He  sought  the  source 
of  this  sensation  and,  for  a  little  time,  sought  it  un- 
successfully. Annoyed,  he  persisted.  He  heard  the 
croupier's  mechanical  "  Rein  ne  va  plus,"  followed 
by  the  whirring  of  the  wheel,  but  cared  so  little  that 


CHAPTER    TWO  23 

he  would  not  turn  to  watch  the  outcome.  Only  an 
exclamation  of  the  Austrian's  apprised  him  of  the 
fact  that  red  had  won.  He  glanced  listlessly  round 
to  see  the  money  doubled,  and  let  it  rest,  turning 
back  to  his  survey  of  the  throng.  A  moment  later 
his  attention  became  fixed  upon  two  men  who  stood 
in  the  doorway,  looking  toward  him.  Again  the 
wheel  buzzed,  the  ball  clattered  and  was  still.  The 
word  rouge  among  others  in  the  announcement  told 
him  that  again  he  had  won;  this  time,  however,  he 
did  not  turn,  but,  frowning  in  speculation,  stared 
back  at  the  two. 

Stared?  Indeed  and  he  did  just  that.  If  it  was 
impertinent,  sure  and  were  they  not  staring  at  him? 
And  who  should  gainsay  an  O'Rourke  the  right  to 
stare  at  anybody,  be  he  king  or  commoner?  Fur- 
thermore, who  might  these  men  be,  and  what  their 
interest  in  himself? 

The  one  was  tall,  slender,  saturnine;  an  elegant, 
owing  as  much  to  the  art  of  his  tailor  and  uphol- 
sterer as  to  his  own,  indisputable,  native  distinction ; 
a  Frenchman — at  least  of  a  type  unquestionably 
Gallic.  His  face  was  very  pale,  his  fine,  pointed 
moustache  very  precise,  jaw  square,  forehead  high, 
eyes  deep  and  dark  beneath  brows  heavy,  level  and 
black,  manner  marked  by  a  repose  almost  threaten- 
ing in  its  impassivity. 

His  companion  was  shorter  of  stature,  a  younger 
man  by  at  least  ten  years,  rather  stout  and  very 


24i  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

nervous,  with  a  fresh  red  face  marred  by  hallmarks 
of  dissipation ;  British,  every  inch  of  him. 

"  That,  I'm  thinking,"  mused  O'Rourke,  "will  be 
the  Honourable  Bertie  Glynn.  Faith,  he  looks  the 
part,  at  least;  'tis  just  that  kind — inbred,  under- 
bred, without  brains  or  real  stamina — that  would 
run  through  a  half-million  sterling  inside  a  year." 

But  the  other? 

"Monsieur,"  the  little  Austrian  stammered  ex- 
citedly in  his  ear,  "  for  you  the  red  has  doubled  a 
fourth  time." 

"  Thank  ye,"  replied  O'Rourke  without  moving. 
"  'Twill  turn  up  seven,  this  run." 

The  system-gambler  subsided,  petrified. 

But  the  other?  O'Rourke  continued  to  probe  his 
memory.  Something  in  the  man's  personality  was 
curiously  reminiscent.  ...  Of  a  sudden  he  re- 
membered. The  Frenchman  had  been  pointed  out 
to  him,  years  ago,  in  Paris,  as  a  principal  in  a 
Boulevard  scandal  which  had  terminated  in  a  duel — 
a  real  duel,  in  which  he  had  been  victorious.  He  was 
accustomed  to  anticipate  such  an  outcome  of  his 
affairs  of  honour,  however ;  that  was  why  he  had  been 
named  to  O'Rourke;  Des  Trebes  (that  was  the 
name;  the  Vicomte  des  Trebes)  was  a  duellist  of  in- 
ternational disrepute. 

"  Monsieur,"  the  agitated  voice  fluttered  in  his 
ear,  "  you  have  won  yet  again — for  the  sixth  time !  " 

"  Let  it  stand  for  the  seventh,  mon  ami." 


CHAPTER    TWO  25 

Why  should  Des  Trebes  be  watching  him  so 
openly,  so  pointedly?  As  he  watched  he  became 
aware  that  these  two,  the  Frenchman  and  the  Eng- 
lishman, were  not  alone ;  detached  though  their  atti- 
tude was,  they  were  evidently  of  a  party  of  ladies 
and  gentlemen  whose  gay,  chattering  group  formed 
their  background. 

"  Monsieur,  the  seventh  turn ! " 

"  Yes,  yes." 

**  Rein  ne  va  plus,"  croaked  the  croupier. 

One  of  the  ladies  turned  to  speak  to  the  Honour- 
able Mr.  Glynn.  Smiling,  he  nodded,  and  offered 
her  an  arm.  She  lingered,  addressing  Des  Trebes. 
The  latter  bowed,  lifted  his  shoulders  and  laughed 
lightly,  plainly  excusing  himself.  A  general  move- 
ment took  place  in  the  party;  it  began  to  disinte- 
grate, men  and  women  pairing  off,  all  moving  at 
leisure  toward  the  lobby.  Des  Trebes  alone  re- 
mained. O'Rourke  could  see  that  the  personnel  of 
the  gathering  was  largely  British.  He  recognised 
Lady  Plinlimmon,  whose  yacht  (he  had  heard  cas- 
ually) had  arrived  in  the  harbour  that  morning. 
Evidently  this  was  her  party.  Another  woman's 
figure  caught  his  attention;  her  back  was  turned, 
but  she  had  an  air,  a  graceful  set  of  the  shoulders, 
an  individual  pride  and  spirit  in  the  poise  of  her 
head,  that  O'Rourke  could  have  sworn  he  knew. 
He  was  conscious  that  he  flushed  suddenly,  that  his 
heart  was  pounding.  He  made  as  if  to  rise  and  fol- 


26  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

low,  but  was  prevented,  almost  forced  back  by  a 
hand  which  the  Austrian  in  his  feverish  interest  had 
unconsciously  placed  on  the  Irishman's  shoulder. 

"  Monsieur,  monsieur ! "  he  gasped,  his  eyes,  pro- 
truding, fixed  upon  the  wheel.  Beads  of  sweat  glis- 
tened on  his  forehead.  He  trembled  as  though  his 
own  fortunes  hung  on  the  change. 

Impressed,  O'Rourke  could  not  forbear  to  linger., 
to  cast  a  reluctant  glance  at  the  table. 

The  size  of  his  pile  of  gold  and  notes  on  the  red 
was  a  somewhat  startling  sight  to  him.  His  breath 
stopped  in  his  throat.  The  ivory  sphere  was  rattling 
over  the  compartments  to  its  predestined  place. 
What  if  he  were  to  win?  O'Rourke  began  to  cal- 
culate mentally  how  much  he  had  at  stake,  how 
much  he  might  win  if  his  careless  prediction  that  red 
would  turn  up  the  seventh  time  should  come  true — 
lost  his  bearings  in  a  maze  of  intricate  computation 
and  was  on  the  point  of  abandoning  the  problem, 
when  black  was  called. 

"  Great  God !  "  panted  the  Austrian,  withdrawing 
his  hand. 

O'Rourke  rose.  "  The  fortunes  of  war,  me 
friend,"  said  he  with  a  laugh  so  unforced  that  it 
sounded  unnatural.  He  strode  away  hastily,  search- 
ing the  throng  in  the  lobby  for  her  with  whom  his 
mind  was  occupied  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else. 

The  system-gambler  followed  him  with  a  stare  of 
incredulous  amazement.  "  What  a  man !  "  said  he 


CHAPTER    TWO  27 

to  himself,  if  half  aloud.  A  second  later  he  added: 
"  What  admirable  acting !  " 

But  he  was  mistaken.  There  was  nothing  assumed 
in  O'Rourke's  air  of  apathy.  He  was  actually  quite 
indifferent  and  already  preoccupied  with  his  new  in- 
terest— the  pursuit  of  the  woman  whose  unexpected 
appearance  in  Monte  Carlo  seemed  likely  to  upset 
all  his  calculations.  The  sails  of  the  barque  of  his 
fortunes  had  all  his  life  long  been  trimmed  to  the 
winds  of  Chance;  he  was  well  accustomed  to  seeing 
them  fall  flat  and  flapping,  empty,  just  when  a  ven- 
ture seemed  most  propitious.  The  loss  of  money 
was  nothing:  the  initial  amount  had  been  little 
enough  in  all  conscience,  though  the  major  part  of 
all  that  he  possessed;  but  to  him  the  woman  was 
everything — the  world  and  all. 

And  now  she  was  gone,  had  disappeared  with  her 
companions !  In  that  instant  in  which  he  had  turned 
from  her  to  the  table,  she  had  made  her  escape. 

He  cursed  roundly  the  weakness  that  had  lost  her 
to  him,  and  passing  rapidly  through  the  lobby,  left 
the  Casino,  pausing  before  the  entrance  to  look  right 
and  left. 

There  was  no  sign  of  what  he  sought ;  the  party 
had  vanished.  And  who  should  say  whither? 

"  Damnation !  "  he  grumbled. 

"  Monsieur,"  a  voice  intruded  at  his  side. 

He  turned  with  a  start,  annoyed.  "Well?"  he 
^demanded  curtly,  recognising  Des  Trebes. 


28  THE   POOL    OF  FLAME 

The  Frenchman  bowed.  "  I  have  the  honour  to 
address  Monsieur  le  Colonel  O'Rourke?  " 

Reflecting  that  the  man  might  afford  him  the  in- 
formation he  sought,  O'Rourke  unbent.  "  I  am  he, 
Monsieur  des  Trebes." 

Surprised,  the  latter  lifted  his  eyebrows,  showing 
even  white  teeth  in  a  deprecatory  smile.  "  You  know 
me,  monsieur?  " 

"  By  sight  and  reputation  only,  monsieur." 

"  I  am  honoured." 

"  No  more  than  meself,  if  it  comes  to  that." 

The  vicomte  laughed.  "  Then  I  may  presume  to 
ask  the  favour  of  a  word  with  you?  " 

"Are  ye  not  having  it,  monsieur?" 

"True     .     .     .     But  in  private? " 

"  One  moment.  Ye  can  do  me  a  favour,  if  ye  will. 
Afterwards " 

"  I  am  charmed." 

"  'Tis  not  much  I'll  be  asking  ye — merely  a  ques- 
tion or  two.  Now  that  gentleman  ye  were  talking 
with  a  while  back:  isn't  he  the  Honourable  Bertie 
Glynn?" 

"  The  same,  monsieur." 

"  And  the  lady  who  spoke  to  him ?  " 

"  Madame  Smyth-Herriott,  I  believe ;  I  know  her 
only  slightly." 

"  Then  ye  are  not  of  their  party?  " 

"  Party  ? "  Des  Trebes  appeared  perplexed. 
"What  party?" 


CHAPTER    TWO  29 

"  Why,  Lady  Plinlimmon's,  of  course." 

"I  have  not  the  honour  of  that  lady's  acquaint- 
ance, monsieur." 

"Oh,  ye  have  not?     But  Mr.  Glynn?  " 

"  Is  here  with  me,  monsieur — a  flying  trip.  We 
ran  down  from  Paris  but  yesterday.  Our  meeting 
with  Madame  Smyth-Herriott  was  quite  accidental." 

"  Oh,  the  divvle ! "  said  O'Rourke  beneath  his 
breath.  Plainly  he  might  expect  nothing  more  help- 
ful from  this  man;  he  had  jumped  prematurely  at 
a  baseless  conclusion,  it  seemed.  And  by  now  it  was 
much  too  late  to  think  of  further  pursuit.  "  That  is 
all  I  wished  to  know,  monsieur,"  he  admitted  lamely. 
"  There  was  a  lady  in  the  group  whom  I  thought  I 
recognised.  I  wished  to  find  her  and  fancied  ye 
might  perhaps  direct  me.  Ye  didn't  by  any  chance 
happen  to  hear  Mrs.  Smyth-Herriott  say  where  she 
was  going  with  Mr.  Glynn  ?  " 

"  Unhappily  no,  monsieur." 

"  Very  well  then.  What  can  I  have  the  happiness 
to  serve  ye  in  ?  " 

The  Frenchman  hesitated  briefly.  "This  is  a 
trifle  public,"  he  suggested.  "  Will  you  not  be  kind 
enough  to  walk  with  me  a  little  distance,  while  we 
converse?  " 

"  Gladly,  monsieur." 

Des  Trebes  produced  a  cigarette  case,  and  to- 
gether, smoking,  the  two  turned  their  backs  upon  the 
Casino  and  wandered  off  along  the  paths  of  the 


30  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

terraced  gardens.  Ever  descending,  they  came  at 
length  to  the  secluded,  little  lighted  and  less  fre- 
quented portions  of  the  grounds  which  border  the 
waterfront,  and  presently  sat  side  by  side  upon  a 
bench,  looking  out  over  the  harbour.  Then  and  then 
only  did  Des  Trebes  approach  his  subject — some- 
thing which  he  had  until  now  studiously  avoided, 
distracting  the  not  over-patient  Irishman  by  a  fall- 
ing fire  of  banalities. 

"  I  dare  say,  Colonel  O'Rourke,"  he  suggested, 
abandoning  his  mother  tongue  for  excellent  English 
— "  I  dare  say  you  are  wondering " 

"  I  am  that." 

"  I  feared  so.  But  it  was  essential  that  we  should 
speak  in  privacy." 

"  Yes ?  " 

"  But  before  I  proceed,  may  I  put  you  a  ques- 
tion or  two  bordering,  perhaps,  upon  impertinence, 
yet  not  so  conceived?  " 

"  What  a  long-winded  beggar ! "  O'Rourke  com- 
mented mentally.  "  As  for  that,"  said  he  aloud, 
"  'tis  impossible  for  me  to  calculate  the  imperti- 
nence until  'tis  put  to  me.  Eh  ?  " 

"  Believe  me,  sir,  I  am  anxious  only  to  avoid  in- 
discretion. It  is  the  question  of  your  identity  alone. 
I  desire  only  to  be  assured  that  you  are  the  Colonel 
O'Rourke  I  take  you  to  be." 

"  My  faith !    And  who  else  would  I  be,  now?  " 

"  There's  the  bare  possibility  that  two  of  the  same 
name  might  exist." 


CHAPTER   TWO  31 

"  'Tis  so  bare  that  'tis  fairly  indecent,"  chuckled 
the  Irishman.  "  But  fire  away." 

"  I  am  not  mistaken  then  in  assuming  that  I  ad- 
dress the  Colonel  Terence  O'Rourke  who  was  at  one 
time  a  party  to  le  petit  Lemercier's  mad  Empire 
du  Sahara  project  and  who  later  married  Lemer- 
cier's widow,  Madame  la  Princesse  de  Grandlieu?  " 

O'Rourke  took  a  long  breath  and  looked  his 
questioner  up  and  down.  "  Ye  have  a  very  pretty 
taste  in  the  matter  of  impertinences,"  he  said 
gravely.  "However,  let  that  pass.  I'm  the  same 
man." 

"  A  thousand  pardons.  Caution  in  matters  such 

as  this "  A  shrug  completed  the  thought  most 

eloquently.  "  You  can  give  me  proofs  of  your 
identity,  then  ?  " 

"Proofs!"  O'Rourke  got  to  his  feet.  "Believe 
me,  monsieur,  ye  have  all  the  proof  I'm  willing  to 
give  ye,  and  that's  me  last  word.  If  yet  find  it  in- 
sufficient, why,  then " 

"  Pardon !  "  Des  Trebes  interrupted,  rising.  "  I 
am  myself  more  than  content.  But  the  Government 
of  France " 

"The  Government  of  France !"  O'Rourke 

whistled. 

"  Is  more  exacting  than  I.  It  knows  a  certain 
Colonel  O'Rourke  and  him  alone  does  it  need." 

"  The  divvle  it  does  !  And  what  will  it  be  wanting 
with  me  ?  " 

"  I  can  say  at  present  no  more  than  that  I  rep- 


32  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

resent  Government  in  an  affair  demanding  secrecy 
and  despatch.  I  have  a  certain  diplomatic  mission 
to  discharge,  and  shall  have  need,  monsieur,  of  a 
man  strong,  bold,  venturesome,  willing  to  undertake 
a  long  and  perhaps  perilous  journey."  Had  Des 
Trebes  been  inspired  he  could  have  formulated  no 
speech  better  calculated  to  intrigue  the  Irishman; 
the  merest  echo  of  its  import  would  have  fired  his 
hearer's  fancy.  He  added:  "And  I  am  authorised 
to  retain  for  that  purpose,  should  I  be  fortunate 
enough  to  find  him  unengaged,  a  certain  Colonel 
Terence  O'Rourke." 

"  Say  no  more,  monsieur.  'Tis  enough.  *  Secrecy 
— despatch — a  long  and  perilous  journey'!  Faith, 
I'm  just  your  man !  " 

"  You  have  no  other  business  of  the  moment?  '* 

"  None  whatever." 

"  Then  I  am  indeed  fortunate.  And  now,  I  pre- 
sume, you  will  no  longer  object  to  satisfying  me 
as  to  your  identity." 

"  Not  in  the  least.  Although,  to  be  candid, 
monsieur,  I'm  not  in  the  habit  of  carrying  me  Ber- 
tillion  record  about  me.  But  if  ye'll  have  the  good- 
ness to  accompany  me  to  the  Orient,  over  there, 
I'll  put  your  mind  at  ease  before  ye  can  say  knife." 

Des  Trebes  nodded.  "  I  should  be  delighted,  but 
unfortunately  " — he  snapped  the  case  of  his  watch 
— "  I  have  an  appointment  with  a  confrere.  May 
we  fix  a  time — in  half  an  hour,  say — when  it  will  be 
convenient  for  you  to  have  me  call  at  the  Orient  ?  " 


CHAPTER    TWO  33 

"In  half  an  hour?     I'll  await  ye  then,  monsieur." 

"  Pardon,  then,  my  haste.  I  am  late.  I  must  be 
off." 

The  man's  hand  touched  O'Rourke's  in  the  most 
brief  of  clasps,  singularly  firm  and  cold.  The  Irish- 
man pondered  the  sensation  for  some  moments  after 
Des  Trebes*  hurrying  figure  had  vanished  in 
shadows. 

"  I  don't  like  it,"  he  averred ;  "  'tis  a  bad  sign — 
a  hand  that's  naturally  cold.  I  never  yet  touched 
one  like  it  that  belonged  to  a  man  ye  could  trust. 
I  misdoubt  he's  sound  at  the  core,  Des  Trebes. 
.  .  .  But  then,  what's  the  odds?  Can  I  not 
take  care  of  meself?  And  since  'tis  the  Government 
of  France  I'm  treating  with,  and  himself  only  the 
medium — that  puts  altogether  a  different  com- 
plexion on  the  matter." 

He  spent  the  ensuing  half-hour  loitering  in  the 
more  populous  portions  of  the  grounds,  smoking  as 
he  strolled,  his  eyes  keen  to  scrutinise  each  woman 
who  came  his  way.  But  he  discovered  none  resem- 
bling her  whom  he  had  seen  in  the  Casino. 

"  Of  all  things  the  most  improbable,"  he  admitted 
at  length.  "  Me  ears  deceived  me  this  evening :  is 
it  any  less  likely  that  me  eyes  should  play  me  false? 
Faith,  for  the  matter  of  that,  'tis  me  heart  that's 
doing  it  all ;  'tis  sick  it  is  with  longing  for  her,  and 
within  another  twenty-four  hours  'twill  be  making 
me  think  every  woman  I  see  is  herself!  .... 
Bless  her  sweet  face,  the  darling ! " 


CHAPTER 
THREE 

As  he  stepped  out  of  the  lift  Colonel  O'Rourke  re- 
marked a  light  in  his  room,  visible  through  the 
transom  over  the  door. 

"  The  femme  de  chambre,  "  he  thought.  "  Sure 
and  the  poor  thing's  still  busy  trying  to  clear 
up.  ..." 

To  the  contrary,  he  found  the  door  fast.  "  'Tis 
careless  she  was  to  leave  the  light  on, "  he  observed^ 
fitting  his  key  to  the  lock. 

If  thoughtless  in  that  one  way,  the  woman  had 
fulfilled  the  letter  of  her  word  in  the  other.  It  was 
with  comprehensible  delight  and  relief  (since  he 
anticipated  a  caller)  that  he  found  the  room  once 
again  presentable.  His  multitudinous  belongings  had 
disappeared,  as  if  magically  they  had  been  stowed 
away;  the  curtains  of  the  alcove,  decently  drawn, 
concealed  the  most  part  of  them.  The  furnishings 
had  been  put  in  place,  the  bed  turned  down  ready 
for  him  to  slip  into  it,  the  window  curtains  caught 
aside  to  admit  whatever  air  might  be  stirring — a 
work  of  supererogation  on  that  night,  O'Rourke 
considered,  noting  how  straight  and  still  they 
hung.  .  .  . 

34 


CHAPTER    THREE  35 

But  one  thing  surprised  him ;  and  more  surprising 
still  was  the  fact  that  his  ordinarily  indifferent  eye 
should  have  detected  it  at  the  first  glance.  He  had 
indeed  hardly  entered  before  he  became  aware  of  a 
square  of  white  paper  tucked  in  the  corner  of  the 
bureau  mirror. 

"The  divvle,  now!"  he  greeted  it.  "That's 
curious.  .  .  .  Could  one  of  me  many  admir- 
ers have  bribed  the  femme  de  chambre  to  bring  a 
note  to  me?  "  He  chuckled,  holding  to  the  light  a 
much-soiled  envelope,  grimy  with  the  marks  of  many 
fingers,  liberally  plastered  with  stamps  and  black 
with  postmarks  and  substitute  addresses,  having 
evidently  been  forwarded  over  half  the  world  before 
it  reached  the  addressee:  who  was,  in  a  bold  hand, 
"  Colonel  Terence  O'Rourke." 

He  whistled  low  over  this,  examining  it  intently, 
infinitely  less  concerned  with  its  contents  than  with 
the  manner  by  which  it  had  reached  him.  The  first 
postmark  seemed  to  be  that  of  Rangoon,  the  orig- 
inal address,  the  Cercle  Militaire,  his  club  in  Paris. 
Thence,  apparently,  it  had  sought  him  in  Galway, 
Ireland,  Dublin,  Paris  again,  and  finally — after 
half  a  dozen  other  addresses — '*  C/.  Mme.  O'Rourke. 
Hotel  Carlton,  London."  The  London  postmark 
was  indecipherable. 

He  found  himself  trembling  violently.  By  one 
hand  alone  could  this  have  reached  him,  since  the 
post  had  not  brought  it  to  Monte  Carlo.  .  .  .. 


36  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

He  recalled  that  woman's  voice  which  had  so  stirred 
him,  the  woman  of  the  Casino  whose  bearing  had 
seemed  to  him  so  familiar.  .  .  . 

Someone  tapped  on  the  door;  he  smothered  a 
curse  of  annoyance,  and  went  to  answer,  thrusting 
the  letter  into  his  pocket. 

A  page  announced  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  des 
Trebes. 

"  Show  the  gentleman  up,  "  snapped  O'Rourke. 
He  was  about  to  add,  "  in  five  minutes, "  when  Des 
Trebes  himself  appeared. 

"  Anticipating  that  message,  monsieur,"  he  said, 
moving  into  view  from  one  side  of  the  door,  "  I  took 
the  liberty  of  accompanying  this  boy.  I  am  late, 
I  fear." 

O'Rourke  forced  a  nod  and  smile  of  welcome. 
"  Not  to  my  knowledge, "  said  he. 

The  Frenchman  consulted  his  watch.  "  Ten 
minutes  late,  monsieur;  it  is  ten  minutes  past  mid- 
night." 

"  Then, "  said  O'Rourke,  "  the  top  o'  the  morn- 
ing to  ye.  Enter,  monsieur."  He  stood  aside,  clos- 
ing the  door  behind  his  guest.  "  'Tis  no  matter ;  if 
I  thought  ye  punctual,  'tis  so  ye  are  to  all  intents 
and  purposes.  ...  A  chair,  monsieur."  He 
established  Des  Trebes  by  a  window.  "  And  a  ciga- 
rette ?  .  .  .  A  drop  to  drink  ?  ...  As  ye  will. 
.  .  .  And  since  'tis  to  talk  secret  business  that 
we're  here — would  ye  like  the  door  locked  ?  " 


CHAPTER    THREE  37 

"  That  is  hardly  essential."  Des  Trebes  reviewed 
his  surroundings  with  swift,  searching  glances.  "  We 
are  at  least  secure  from  interruption ;  one  could  ask 
little  more." 

"  True  for  ye, "  laughed  O'Rourke.  He  moved 
toward  the  alcove.  "  Now  first  of  all  I'm  to  submit 
proofs  of  me  identity,  I  believe,"  he  added,  intending 
to  dig  out  of  his  trunk  a  despatch-box  containing 
his  passports  and  other  papers  of  a  private  nature. 

But  Des  Trebes  had  changed  his  mind.  "  That 
is  unnecessary,  monsieur.  Your  very  willingness 
is  sufficient  proof.  I  have  your  word  and  am  con- 
tent." 

"  That's  the  way  of  doing  business  that  I  like,  " 
assented  ORourke  heartily,  warming  a  little  to  the 
man  as  he  turned  back  a  chair  facing  the  vicomte. 
"  Besides,  I  quarrel  with  no  man's  right  to  be  rea- 
sonable. .  .  .  And  now  I'm  at  your  service, 
monsieur." 

Des  Trebes,  lounging  back,  knees  crossed,  thin 
white  fingers  interlacing,  black  eyes  narrowing,  re- 
garded the  Irishman  thoughtfully  for  a  moment. 
Abruptly  he  sat  up  and  removed  from  an  inner 
pocket  a  long  thin  white  envelope,  thrice  sealed  with 
red  wax  and  innocent  of  any  superscription  whatever. 

"  Are  you  prepared,  monsieur,"  he  demanded  inci- 
sively, "  to  play  blindman's  buff?  " 

"Am  I  what?"  asked  O'Rourke,  startled.  Then 
he  smiled.  "  Pardon ;  perhaps  I  fail  to  follow  ye." 


38  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

"  I  mean,"  explained  the  vicomte  patiently,  "  that 
I  have  to  offer  you  a  commission  to  act  under  sealed 
orders  " — he  tapped  the  envelope — "  the  orders  con- 
tained herein." 

"  And  when  would  I  be  free  to  open  that  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  you  are  at  sea — away  from  France, 
monsieur." 

O'Rourke  considered  the  envelope  doubtfully. 
**  From  you,  monsieur — from  the  Government  of 
France,  which  you  represent,"  he  said  at  length, 
"  yes ;  I  will  accept  such  a  commission.  France,"  he 
averred  simply,  "  knows  me ;  it  wouldn't  be  asking 
me  to  do  anything  a  gentleman  shouldn't." 

"  You  may  feel  assured  of  that,1"  agreed  Des 
Trebes  gravely.  "  Indeed  I  venture  to  assert  you  will 
find  this — let  us  say — adventure  much  to  your  lik- 
ing. .  .  .  Then  you  accept? " 

"  One  moment — a  dozen  questions,  by  your  leave. 
.  .  .  When  must  I  start? " 

"  To-morrow  morning,  by  the  Cote  d'Azur  Rapide, 
at  ten  minutes  to  eight." 

"  And  where  will  I  be  going?  " 

"  First  to  Paris ;  thence  to  Havre ;  thence,  by  the 
first  available  steamer,  to  New  York ;  finally,  it  may 
be,  to  Venezuela,  monsieur." 

"Expenses?" 

"  I  will  myself  furnish  you  with  funds  sufficient 
to  finance  you  as  far  as  New  York.  There  our 
consul-general  will  provide  you  with  what  more  you 


CHAPTER    THREE  39 

may  require.  It  is  essential  that  your  connection 
with  this  affair  shall  be  kept  secret ;  should  you  draw- 
on  the  government  in  this  country,  it  would  expose 
you  to  grave  suspicion,  perhaps  to  danger." 

"  I  understand  that,"  assented  the  Irishman. 
"But  to  obviate  all  danger  of  mistake,  would  it  not 
be  well  to  have  one  of  your  trusted  agents  meet  me 
on  the  steamer  and  provide  me  with  whatever  ye 
figure  I  might  require?  'Tis  barely  possible  your 
consul-general  might  not  recognise  me  in  New  York. 
Why  should  he?  I  never  heard  his  name,  even." 

Des  Trebes  meditated  this  briefly.  "  It  shall  be  as 
you  desire,  monsieur.  It  shall  be  arranged  as  you 
suggest." 

"  Finally,  then,  what  is  to  be  my  recompense  ?  " 

"  That  must  depend.  I  am  authorised  to  assure 
you  that  in  no  case  will  you  receive  less  than  twenty- 
five  thousand  francs ;  in  event  of  a  successful  ter- 
mination to  your  mission,  the  reward  will  be  doubled." 

"'Tis  enough,"  said  O'Rourke  with  a  sigh;  "I 
accept." 

The  Frenchman  rose,  offering  him  the  envelope. 
"  You  pledge  yourself,  monsieur,  not  to  break  these 
seals  until  you  are  at  sea  ?  " 

"  Absolutely — of  course."  O'Rourke  took  the 
packet,  weighed  it  curiously  in  his  hand  and  scruti- 
nised the  seals.  He  remarked  that  they  were  yet 
soft  and  fresh ;  the  wax  had  been  hot  within  the  half- 
hour. 


40  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

"  I  will  do  myself  the  honour  of  meeting  you  at 
the  train  to  see  you  off,  monsieur,"  said  Des  Trebes. 
"  At  that  time,  also,  will  I  provide  you  with  the 
funds  you  require." 

"  Thank  ye." 

Their  hands  met. 

"  Good  night,  Monsieur  O'Rourke." 

"  Good  night     .     .     ." 

Half  way  to  the  door,  Des  Trebes  paused.  "  Oh, 
by  the  way,"  he  exclaimed  carelessly,  "  I  believe 
you  are  a  friend  of  my  old  school-fellow,  Chambret 
— mon  cher  Adolph?  " 

"  'Tis  so,"  assented  the  Irishman  warmly.  "  The 
best  of  men — Chambret !  " 

"  Odd,"  commented  the  vicomte ;  "  only  this  af- 
ternoon I  was  thinking  of  him,  wondering  what  had 
become  of  the  man." 

"  The  last  I  heard  of  him,  he  was  in  Algeria,  mon- 
sieur— with  some  French  force  in  the  desert." 

"  Thank  you  .  .  ."  On  the  point  of  leaving, 
the  vicomte  snapped  his  teeth  on  a  second  "  Good 
night,"  and  swore  beneath  his  breath. 

O'Rourke,  surprised,  stared.  The  Frenchman 
was  standing  stiffly  at  attention,  as  if  alarmed.  His 
pallor  was,  if  possible,  increased,  livid — his  closely- 
shaven  beard  showing  blue-black  on  his  heavy  jowls 
and  prominent  chin.  His  eyes  blazed,  shifting  from 
the  alcove  to  O'Rourke. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  demanded  harshly,  "  what  does 
this  insult  mean  ?  " 


CHAPTER    THREE  41 

"Mean?"  iterated  O'Rourke.  "Insult?  Faith, 
ye  have  me  there." 

Speechless  with  rage,  Des  Trebes  gestured  vio- 
lently toward  the  alcove;  and  O'Rourke  became 
aware  that  the  curtains  there  were  shaking — waver- 
ing as  though  a  draught  stirred  them.  But  there 
was  no  draught.  And  beneath  their  edge  he  saw 
two  feet — two  small,  bewitching  feet  in  the  daintiest 
and  most  absurd  of  evening  slippers,  with  an  inch 
or  so  of  silken  stocking  showing  above  each. 

Des  Trebes'  eyes,  filled  with  an  expression  un- 
speakably offensive,  met  the  Irishman's  blank,  won- 
dering gaze.  "  It  is,  no  doubt,"  the  Frenchman 
stammered,  "  sanctioned  by  your  code  to  have  me 
spied  upon  by  the  partner  of  your  liasons." 

"  But,  monsieur " 

"  I  compliment  the  lady  upon  the  smallness  of  her 
feet,  as  well  as  upon  ankles  so  charming  that  I  can- 
not bring  myself  to  leave  without  a  glimpse  of  their 
mistress's  features." 

Des  Trebes  moved  toward  the  alcove.  Thunder- 
struck, O'Rourke  rapped  out  a  stupefied  oath,  then 
in  a  stride  forestalled  the  man.  With  him  it  was  as 
if  suddenly  a  circuit  had  closed  in  his  intelli- 
gence, establishing  a  definite  connection  between 
the  three — now  four — most  mystifying  incidents  of 
the  evening. 

"  Less  haste,  monsieur,"  he  counselled  in  a  voice 
of  ice.  His  hand  fell  with  almost  paralysing  force 
upon  the  other's  wrist  as  he  sought  to  grasp  the 


42  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

curtain,  and  swung  him  roughly  back.  "  Yourself 
will  never  know  who's  there — whoever  the  lady  may 
be.  ...  Ah,  but  no,  monsieur !  " 

Maddened  beyond  prudence,  Des  Trebes  had 
struck  at  his  face.  O'Rourke  warded  off  the  blow 
and  in  what  seemed  the  same  movement  whirled  the 
man  round  by  his  captive  wrist  and  caught  the  other 
arm  from  the  back.  The  briefest  of  struggles  en- 
sued. The  Frenchman,  taken  at  a  complete  disad- 
vantage, was  for  all  his  resistance  hustled  to  the 
door  and  thrown  through  it  before  he  fairly  com- 
prehended what  was  happening. 

Free  at  length,  if  on  all  fours,  he  scrambled  to 
his  feet  to  find  O'Rourke  with  a  shut  door  behind 
him,  calmly  awaiting  the  next  move. 

"  Haven't  ye  had  enough?  "  demanded  the  Irish- 
man as  the  vicomte,  blinded  by  passion,  seemed 
about  to  renew  the  attack.  "  Or  are  ye  wishful  to 
be  going  downstairs  in  the  same  fashion?" 

Des  Trebes  drew  back,  snarling.  "  You  dog !  " 
he  cried.  Then  abruptly,  by  an  admirable  effort,  he 
calmed  himself  surprisingly,  drawing  himself  up 
with  considerable  dignity  and  throttling  his  tem- 
per as  he  quietly  adjusted  the  disorder  of  his  cloth- 
ing. Only  in  his  eyes,  black  as  sloes  and  small,  did 
there  remain  any  traces  of  his  malignant  and  un- 
quenchable hatred. 

"  I  am  unfortunately,"  he  sneered,  "  incapable 
of  participating  in  such  brawls  as  you  prefer, 
Colonel  O'Rourke.  But  I  am  not  content.  I  warn 


CHAPTER    THREE  43 

you  .  .  .  My  rank  prevents  me  from  punishing 
you  personally;  I  am  obliged  to  fight  gentlemen 
only." 

O'Rourke  laughed  openly. 

"  But  I  advise  you  to  leave  Monte  Carlo  before 
morning.  Should  you  remain,  or  should  you  come 
within  my  neighbourhood  another  time — at  what- 
ever time — I  will  kill  you  as  I  would  a  rabid  cur — or 
cause  you  to  be  shot." 

"  There's  always  the  coward's  alternative,"  re- 
turned the  Irishman.  "  But  ye  mustn't  forget  ye've 
only  the  one  leg  to  stand  upon  in  society — your  no- 
toriety as  a  duellist.  And  I  shall  take  steps  to  see 
that  ye  fight  me  before  another  sunset.  Else  shall 
all  Europe  know  ye  for  a  coward." 

Behind  the  vicomte  the  lift  shot  up,  paused,  and 
discharged  a  single  passenger.  As  swiftly  the  cage 
disappeared. 

Out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  O'Rourke  recognised 
the  newcomer  as  an  old  acquaintance,  and  his  heart 
swelled  with  gratitude  while  a  smile  of  rare  pleasure 
shaped  itself  upon  his  lips.  He  had  now  the  French- 
man absolutely  at  his  mercy. 

"  Captain  von  Einem,"  he  said  quickly,  "  by  your 
leave,  a  moment  of  your  time." 

The  man  paused  stiffly,  with  the  square-set  and 
erect  poise  of  an  officer  of  the  German  army.  "  At 
your  service,  Colonel  O'Rourke,"  he  said  in  impec- 
cable French. 

But  the  Irishman  had  returned  undivided  atten- 


44  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

tion  to  Des  Trebes.  "  Monsieur,"  he  announced, 
"  your  nose  annoys  me."  And  with  that  he  shot 
out  a  hand  and  seized  the  offensive  member  between 
a  strong  and  capable  thumb  and  forefinger.  "  It 
has  annoyed  me,"  he  explained  in  parentheses,  "  ever 
since  I  first  clapped  me  two  eyes  upon  ye,  scum  of 
the  earth  that  ye  are." 

And  he  tweaked  the  nose  of  Monsieur  le  Vicomte 
des  Trebes,  tweaked  it  with  a  will  and  great  pleas- 
ure, tweaked  it  for  glory  and  the  Saints ;  carefully, 
methodically,  even  painstakingly,  he  kneaded  and 
pulled  and  twisted  it  from  side  to  side,  ere  releas- 
ing it. 

Then  stepping  back  and  wiping  his  fingers  upon 
a  handkerchief,  he  cocked  his  head  to  one  side  and 
admired  the  result  of  his  handiwork.  "  'Tis  an 
amazingly  happy  effect,"  he  observed  critically — 
"  the  crimson  blotch  it  makes  against  the  chalky  com- 
plexion ye  affect,  Monsieur  des  Trebes.  .  .  .  And 
now  I  fancy  ye'll  fight.  Your  friendp  may  call 
upon  mine  here — Captain  von  Einem,  with  your 
permission." 

"  Most  happy,  Colonel  O'Rourke,"  assented  the 
German,  blue  eyes  sparkling  in  an  immobile  counte- 
nance. "  I  shall  await  the  seconds  of  Monsieur  des 
Trebes  in  my  rooms." 

The  Frenchman  essayed  to  speak,  choked  with 
passion,  and  turning  abruptly,  somewhat  unstead- 
ily descended  the  staircase. 


CHAPTER    THREE  45 

O'Rourke  laughed  briefly,  offering  the  German 
his  hand.  "  'Twas  wonderfully  opportune,  your 
appearance,  captain  dear,"  said  he.  "  Thank  ye 
from  the  bottom  of  me  heart.  .  .  .  And  now  will 
ye  forgive  me  excusing  meself  until  I  hear  from  ye 
about  the  affair  of  the  morning?  I've  a  friend  wait- 
ing in  me  room  here.  .  .  .  Pardon  the  rude- 
ness." 


CHAPTER 
FOUR 

IT  would  be  difficult  to  designate  precisely  just  what 
O'Rourke  thought  to  discover  when,  after  a  punctil- 
ious return  of  Captain  von  Einem's  salute,  he  re- 
opened his  door  and,  closing  it  quickly  as  he  entered, 
turned  the  key  in  the  lock. 

His  mood  was  exalted,  his  imagination  excited; 
the  swift  succession  of  events  which  had  made 
memorable  the  night,  culminating  with  his  open  in- 
vitation to  a  challenge  from  the  most  desperate 
duellist  in  Europe,  had  inspired  a  volatile  vivacity 
such  as  not  even  the  excitement  of  the  Casino  had 
been  potent  to  create  in  him.  Of  all  mad  con- 
jectures imaginable  the  maddest  was  not  too  weird 
for  him  to  credit  in  his  humour  of  that  hour.  Elim- 
inating all  else  that  had  happened,  in  the  course  of 
that  short  evening  his  heart  had  been  stirred,  his 
emotions  played  upon  by  a  recrudescence  of  a  pas- 
sion which  he  had  striven  with  all  his  strength  to  put 
behind  him  for  a  time ;  he  had  first  heard  the  voice 
of  the  one  woman  to  whom  his  love  and  faith  and 
honour  were  irretrievably  pledged,  he  had  then  seen 
her  (or  another  who  remarkably  resembled  her)  for 
the  scantiest  of  instants ;  and  finally  he  had  myster- 

46 


CHAPTER   FOUR  47 

iously  received  a  letter  which  could,  he  believed,  have 
been  conveyed  to  him  by  no  hand  but  hers.  And 
now  he  was  persuaded  beyond  a  doubt  that  the 
person  of  the  alcove,  the  eavesdropper  for  whose  fair 
repute  he  had  chosen  to  risk  his  life,  was  nobody  in 
the  world  but  that  same  one  woman. 

But  more  than  all  else,  perhaps,  he  expected  and 
feared  to  find  the  room  deserted;  for  the  balcony 
outside  the  windows  afforded  a  means  of  escape  too 
facile  to  be  neglected  by  one  who  wished  not  to  be 
discovered.  .  .  . 

His  first  definite  impression  was  of  consternation 
and  despair;  for  the  lights  had  been  shut  off  in  his 
absence.  Then  quickly  he  discerned,  with  eyes  dazed 
by  the  change  from  the  lighted  hallway  to  the  light- 
less  chamber,  the  shadowy  shape  of  a  woman,  motion- 
less between  him  and  the  windows,  waiting.  .  .  . 

An  electric  switch  was  at  his  elbow.  With  a 
single  motion  he  could  have  drenched  the  place  with 
light.  For  an  instant  tempted,  some  strange  scru- 
ple of  delicacy,  abetted  it  may  be  by  his  native  love 
of  romantic  mystery,  stayed  his  hand. 

"  Madame,"  said  he,  "  or  mademoiselle,  whichever 
ye  may  be — the  windows  are  open,  meself's  not  detain- 
ing ye.  If  ye  choose,  ye  may  go  ;  but  ye'd  favour  me 
by  going  quickly.  ...  I  give  ye,"  he  con- 
tinued, seeing  that  she  neither  moved  nor  replied, 
"  this  one  chance.  In  thirty  seconds  I  turn  on  the 
lights." 


48  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

The  woman  did  not  stir;  but  he  thought  he  could 
detect  in  the  stillness  her  quickened  breathing. 

"What  ye've  taken,"  he  amended,  "I'd  thank 
ye  to  leave  as  ye  go — if  ye  came  to  steal.  'Tis  little 
I  have  to  lose.  .  .  . " 

There  was  no  answer. 

He  touched  the  switch  with  an  impatient  hand, 
stepped  forward  a  single  pace,  caught  himself  up 
and  stopped  short,  now  pale  and  trembling  who  had 
a  moment  gone  been  flushed  but  calm. 

"  Beatrix !  "  he  cried  thickly. 

Dumbly  his  wife  lifted  her  arms  and  offered  her- 
self to  him,  unutterably  lovely,  unspeakably  radi- 
ant. .  .  . 

It  were  worse  than  a  waste  of  time  to  attempt 
a  portrait  of  her  as  she  seemed  to  him.  Seen  through 
her  husband's  eyes,  her  beauty  was  incomparable, 
immaculate,  too  rare  and  fine,  too  delicate  a  thing 
to  be  bodied  forth  in  words,  dependent  upon  the 
perfection  of  no  single  feature.  Not  in  her  hair,  fair 
as  sunlight  on  the  sea,  not  in  her  eyes  of  autumnal 
brown,  not  in  the  wonderful  fineness  of  her  skin 
or  in  the  daintiness  of  her  features,  not  in  the  gra- 
ciousness  of  her  body,  did  he  find  the  beauty  of 
her  that  surpassed  expression,  but  in  the  love  she 
bore  him,  in  the  sweetness  of  her  inviolate  soul,  in 
the  steadfastness  of  her  impregnable  heart.  .  .  . 

But  it's  doubtful  if  ever  he  had  analysed  his  pas- 
sion for  her  so  minutely.  Mostly,  I  think,  at  that 


CHAPTER    FOUR  49 

moment  of  her  abrupt  disclosure  to  him,  he  longed 
unutterably  for  her  lips  and  the  proffered  wreath 
round  his  neck  of  her  slim,  round,  white  arms. 

Yet  he  would  not.  Trembling  though  he  was, 
with  every  instinct  and  every  fibre  of  his  being 
straining  toward  her,  with  the  hunger  for  her  a 
keen  pain  in  his  heart,  he  held  himself  back;  or  his 
conception  of  honour  held  him  back.  That  which  he 
had  voluntarily  forfeited  and  put  away  from  him 
for  his  honour's  sake,  he  would  not  take  back  though 
it  were  offered  freely  to  him. 

"  So,"  he  said,  after  a  bit,  shakily ;  then  pulled 
himself  together  and  controlled  his  voice — "  So  'twas 
yourself  after  all,  Beatrix!  Me  heart  told  me  no 
other  woman  could  have  sung  that  song  as  ye 
did " 

The  woman  dropped  her  arms.  "  Your  heart, 
Terence?  "  she  asked  a  little  bitterly. 

"  What  else?    Do  ye  doubt  it?  " 

She  shook  her  head  sadly,  wistfully.  "  How  do 
I  know?  How  can  I  tell?  Surely,  dear,  no  two  peo- 
ple were  ever  happier  than  we — yet  within  a  year 
from  our  wedding  you  .  .  .  you  left  me,  ran 
away  from  me.  .  .  .  Why  ? " 

"Well  ye  know  why,  dearest,  and  well  ye  know 
'twas  love  of  ye  alone  that  drove  me  from  ye. 
Could  I  let  it  be  said  ye  had  a  husband  who  was 
incapable  of  supporting  ye?  Could  I  let  it  be  said 
that  your  husband  lived  like  a  leech  upon  your 


50  THE   POOL    OF   FLAME 

fortunes?  Faith,  didn't  I  have  to  go  for  your 
sake?" 

"  No,"  she  dissented  with  a  second  weary  shake 
of  her  pretty  head ;  "  I  think  it  was  love  of  yourself, 
a  little,  Terence — that  and  your  pride.  .  .  . 
Why  should  any  of  our  world  have  guessed  you 
were  not  the  rich  man  you  fancied  yourself  wheii 
we  were  married?  Who  would  have  told  them  that 
your  landed  heritage  in  Ireland  had  turned  out 
profitless?  Not  I,  my  dear." 

"  I  know  that,"  he  contended  stubbornly,  "  but 
I  know  too  that  sooner  or  later  it  would  have  come 
out,  and  they  would  have  said :  '  There  she  goes  with 
her  fortune-hunter,  the  adventurer  who  married  her 
for  her  money '  * 

"  And  if  so  ?  What  earthly  difference  could  it 
make  to  us,  sweetheart?  What  can  gossip  matter 
to  us — if  you  love  me?  " 

"If!"  he  cried,  almost  angrily.  "If!  .  .  . 
Ah,  but  no,  darling!  'tis  yourself  knows  there  is  no 
*  if '  about  it,  that  I'm  sick  with  love  of  ye  this  very 
minute — sick  and  mad  for  ye  .  .  ." 

"  Then,"  she  pleaded,  with  a  desperate  little  break 
in  her  incomparable  voice;  and  again  held  out  her 
arms  to  him — "  then  have  pity  on  me,  O  my  dear- 
est one — have  pity  on  me  if  only  for  a  little  while." 

And  suddenly  he  had  caught  her  to  him  and  she 
lay  in  his  arms,  her  young  strong  body  moulded  to 
his,  her  lips  to  his  lips,  her  eyes  half-veiled,  the  sweet 


CHAPTER    FOUR  51 

fragrance  of  her — too  well  remembered — intoxicat- 
ing him:  lay  supine  in  his  embrace,  yet  held  him 
strongly  to  her,  and  trembled  in  sympathy  with  the 
deep,  hurried  pounding  of  his  heart.  .  .  . 

In  the  south  the  horizon  flamed  livid  to  the  zenith, 
revealing  a  great,  black  wall  of  cloud  that  had  stolen 
up  out  of  Africa;  beneath  it  the  sea  shone  momen- 
tarily with  a  sickly  silken  lustre.  Then  the  dense 
blackness  of  the  night  reigned  again,  as  profound  as 
though  impenetrable,  eternal. 

Later  a  dull  growl  of  thunder  rolled  in  across  the 
waste.  With  it  came  the  first  fitful  warnings  of  the 
impending  wind  storm. 

•  •  •  •  • 

" 'Twas  ye  who  sang  to  me,  dearest?" 
"  Who  else,  you  great  silly  boy  ?  .  .  .  And 
when  you  followed  me  to  the  door,  making  as  much 
noise  as  a  young  elephant,  Terence — I  was  minded 
to  punish  you  a  little,  a  very  little,  my  dear.  So  I 
merely  opened  mine  and  closed  it  sharply." 

"  There  was   a  woman  in   the  hall " 

"I  saw  her,  dear,  and  laughed,  thinking  how 
puzzled  you  would  be.  ...  Was  I  cruel,  my 
heart?  But  I  did  not  mean  to  be.  I'd  planned  this 
surprise,  you  know,  from  the  minute  I  found  our 
rooms  adjoined." 

"And  this  letter" — O'Rourke  fumbled  in  his 
pocket  and  got  it  out — "  ye  brought  it  to  me?  " 


52  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

"  It  came  to  me  in  London,  dear,  two  weeks  ago ; 
we  were  together — Clara  Plinlimmon  and  I — at  the 
Carlton,  waiting  for  her  yacht  to  be  put  into  com- 
mission. Meanwhile  she  was  making  up  the  party 
for  this  Mediterranean  trip.  ...  I  had  no 
idea  where  to  send  you  the  letter.  Have  you  read 
it?" 

"  Have  I  had  time,  sweetheart  of  mine  ?  " 

There  was  an  interlude. 

In  the  distance  the  thunder  rolled  and  rumbled. 

Resolutely  the  young  woman  disengaged  herself 
and  withdrew  to  a  little  distance.  Flushed  and  al- 
together adorable,  she  stood  poised  as  if  for  flight, 
smiling  provokingly  down  upon  the  man  in  the 
chair,  her  slender  arms  upraised  while  she  rearranged 
her  coiffure. 

"Read,  monsieur,"  she  insisted,  peremptorily. 

"  I've  better  things  to  do,  me  dear,"  he  retorted 
with  composure. 

"  You'll  find  it  interesting." 

"  I  find  me  wife  more  interesting  than How 

d'ye  know  I  will?" 

"  Perhaps  I  have  read  it." 

O'Rourke  turned  the  letter  over  in  his  hand  and 
noted  what  had  theretofore  escaped  his  attention 
— the  fact  that  the  envelope,  badly  frayed  on  the 
edges  through  much  handling,  was  open  at  the 
top. 

"  So  ye  may,"  he  admitted. 


CHAPTER    FOUR  53 

"  It  was  that  way  when  I  received  it.  And  I 
had  to  read  it.  How  could  I  help  it  ?  " 

"  Then  ye've  saved  me  the  bother."  He  prepared 
to  rise  and  capture  her. 

She  retreated  briskly.  "  Read !  *'  she  commanded. 
"Read  about  the  Pool  of  Flame!" 

He  stopped  short,  thunderstruck.  "  The  Pool  of 
Flame? "  he  iterated  slowly.  "  What  d'ye  know 
about  that?" 

"  What  the  letter  tells  me — no  more.  What  has 
become  of  it  ?  " 

But  he  had  already  withdrawn  the  enclosure  and 
tossed  the  envelope  aside,  and  was  reading — ab- 
sorbed, excited,  oblivious  to  all  save  that  conveyed 
to  his  intelligence  by  the  writing  beneath  his 
eyes. 

It  was  a  singularly  curt,  dry  and  business-like 
document  for  one  that  was  destined  to  mould  the 
romance  of  his  life — strangely  terse  and  tritely 
phrased  for  one  that  was  to  exert  so  far-reaching 
an  influence  over  the  lives  of  so  many  men  and 
women.  Upon  a  single  sheet  of  paper  bearing  their 
letterhead,  Messrs.  Secretan  and  Sypher,  solicitors, 
of  Rangoon,  Burmah,  had  caused  to  be  typed  a  com- 
munication to  Colonel  Terence  O'Rourke,  informing 
him  that  on  behalf  of  a  client  who  preferred  to  pre- 
serve his  incognito  they  were  prepared  to  offer  a 
reward  of  one  hundred  thousand  pounds  sterling  for 
the  return,  intact  and  unmarred,  of  the  ruby  known 


54  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

as  the  Pool  of  Flame.  The  said  ruby  was,  when 
last  heard  of,  in  the  possession  of  the  said  Colonel 
O'Rourke,  who  would  receive  the  reward  upon  the 
delivery  of  the  said  stone  to  the  undersigned  at  their 
offices  in  Rangoon  within  six  months  from  date.  Said 
delivery  might  be  made  either  in  person  or  by  proxy. 
With  which  Messrs.  Secretan  and  Sypher  begged 
to  remain  respectfully  his. 

The  Irishman  read  it  once  and  again,  memorising 
its  import ;  then  deliberately  shredded  it  into  minute 
particles. 

"  So  it's  come,"  he  said  heavily,  "  just  as  the 
O'Mahoney  foretold  it  would ! " 

He  sank  back  in  his  chair,  and  his  wife  went  to 
him  and  perched  herself  upon  the  arm  of  it,  im- 
prisoning his  head  with  her  arms  and  laying  her 
cheek  against  his. 

"  What  has  come,  my  heart  ?  " 

"  One  hundred  thousand  pounds,"  he  said.  .  .  . 
"  Treble  its  worth,  double  what  the  O'Mahoney  ex- 
pected. .  .  ." 

"Who  is  the  O'Mahoney,  dear?" 

He  roused.  "  An  old  friend,  Beatrix — an  old  com- 
rade. He  died  some  years  back,  on  the  banks  of 
the  Tugela,  fighting  with  a  Boer  commando.  He 
was  a  lonely  man,  without  kith  or  kin  or  many 
friends  beside  meself.  That,  I  presume,  is  how  he 
came  to  leave  the  Pool  of  Flame  with  me."  He 
wound  an  arm  round  her  and  held  her  close. 


CHAPTER    FOUR  55 

"  Hearken,  dear,  and  I'll  be  telling  ye  the  story  of 
it." 

Behind  them  the  infernal  glare  lit  up  the  porten- 
tous skies.  Thunder  echoed  between  clouds  and  sea 
like  heavy  cannonading.  The  wife  shrank  close  to 
her  beloved.  "  I  am  not  at  all  afraid,"  she  de- 
clared, when  her  voice  could  be  heard — "with  you* 
.  .  .  Tell  me  about  the  Pool  of  Flame." 

"  The  O'Mahoney  left  it  with  me  when  he  went  to 
South  Africa,"  explained  O'Rourke.  "  'Twas  a 
pasteboard  box  the  size  of  me  fist,  wrapped  in  brown 
paper  and  tied  with  a  bit  of  string,  that  he  brought 
me  one  evening,  saying  he  was  about  to  leave,  and 
would  I  care  for  it  in  his  absence.  I  knew  no  more 
of  it  than  that  'twas  something  he  valued  highly, 
but  I  put  it  away  in  a  safe-deposit  vault — which 
he  might  've  done  himself  if  he  hadn't  been  a  scat- 
terbrain — an  Irishman. 

"  Then  he  wrote  me  a  letter — I  got  it  weeks  after 
his  death — saying  he  felt  he  was  about  to  go  out, 
and  that  the  Pool  of  Flame  was  mine.  He  went  on 
to  explain  that  the  box  contained  a  monstrous  big 
ruby  and  gave  me  its  history,  as  far  as  he  knew 
it.  ... 

"  It  seems  that  there's  a  certain  highly  respectable 
temple  in  one  of  the  Shan  States  of  Burmah  ('tis 
meself  forgets  the  name  of  it)  and  in  that  temple 
there's  an  idol,  a  Buddha  of  pure  gold,  'tis  said.  It 
would  be  a  perfectly  good  Buddha,  only  that  it  lacks 


56  THE   POOL   OF  FLAME 

an  eye;  there's  an  empty  socket  in  its  forehead, 
and  'tis  there  the  Pool  of  Flame  belongs — or  came 
from.  In  the  old  days  the  natives  called  this  stone 
the  Luck  of  the  State,  and  maybe  they  were  right; 
for  when  it  disappeared  the  state  became  a  British 
possession. 

"  In  the  war  of  'eighty-five,  says  the  O'Mahoney, 
a  small  detachment  of  British  troops  out  of  touch 
with  their  command  happened  upon  this  temple  we're 
speaking  of  and  took  it,  dispossessing  priests  and 
populace  without  so  much  as  a  day's  notice.  The 
officer  in  command  happened  to  see  this  eye  in  the 
Buddha's  forehead,  pried  it  out  and  put  it  in  his 
pocket.  In  less  than  an  hour  the  natives  surrounded 
the  temple  and  attacked  in  force.  The  British  stood 
them  off  for  three  days  and  then  were  relieved;  but 
in  the  meantime  the  officer  had  been  killed  and  the 
Pool  of  Flame  had  vanished.  .  .  .  For  .several 
years  it  stayed  quiet,  so  far  as  is  known.  Then  the 
curse  in  the  thing  began  to  work,  and  it  came  to  the 
surface  in  a  drunken  brawl  in  the  slums  of  Port  Said. 
The  police,  breaking  into  some  dive  to  stop  a  row, 
found  nobody  in  the  place  but  a  dead  Greek;  they 
say  'twas  a  shambles.  One  of  the  police  found  the 
big  ruby  in  the  dead  man's  fist  and  before  his  com- 
rades guessed  what  was  up  slipped  away  with  the 
stone.  .  .  .  He  was  murdered  some  months 
later  in  a  Genoese  bagnio,  by  a  French  girl  who  got 
away  with  it  somehow.  .  .  .  The  O'Mahoney 


CHAPTER   FOUR  57 

came  across  the  thing  in  Algeria,  when  he  was  serv- 
ing with  the  Foreign  Legion.  He  was  in  Sidi  Bel 
Abbas  one  night,  off  duty  and  wandering  about, 
when  he  heard  a  man  cry  out  for  help  in  one  of  the 
narrow  black  alleys  of  the  place.  He  thought  he 
recognised  a  comrade's  voice,  and  surely  enough, 
when  he  ran  down  to  aid  him,  he  found  a  Dutchman, 
a  man  of  his  own  regiment,  fighting  with  half  a 
dozen  natives.  He  was  about  done  for,  the  Dutch- 
man, when  the  O'Mahoney  came  up,  and  so  were 
three  of  the  Arabs.  The  O'Mahoney  took  care  of 
the  rest  of  them,  and  left  seven  dead  men  behind  him 
when  he  went  away — the  six  natives  and  the  Dutch- 
man, who  had  died  in  his  arms  and  given  him  the  Pool 
of  Flame  with  his  last  whisper. 

"  That's  how  it  came  to  me,"  said  O'Rourke. 

"  And  where  is  it  now  ?  " 

"  Back  in  Algeria,  if  I'm  not  mistaken.  .  .  . 
Ye  remember  Chambret — he  was  with  us  in  the  des- 
ert and  wanted  ye  to  marry  him  afterwards?  He 
has  it — the  dear  man ;  I  love  him  like  a  brother. 
He  sickened  of  Europe  when  he  found  his 
case  with  you  was  hopeless,  and  went  to  Algiers, 
joining  the  Foreign  Legion." 

"But  how ?" 

"Well,  we  were  fond  of  one  another,  Chambret 
and  I.  I  helped  him  out  of  some  tight  corners  and 
he  helped  me  along  when  me  money  ran  short — as 
it  always  did,  and  will,  I'm  thinking.  After  a  while 


58  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

I  got  to  wondering  how  much  I  owed  the  man  and 
figured  it  up ;  the  sum  total  frightened  the  life  out 
of  me,  and  I  made  him  take  the  ruby  by  way  of  se- 
curity— and  never  was  able  to  redeem  it,  for  'twas 
only  a  little  after  that  that  I  came  into  me  enormous 
patrimony  and  squandered  it  riotously  getting  mar- 
ried to  the  most  beautiful  woman  living." 

Thunder  intervened  with  resonant  reverberations, 
as  though  some  Titan  hand  had  smitten  mightily 
the  sonorous  brazen  gong  of  the  heavens. 

"  He  warned  me  to  hold  the  stone,"  O'Rourke 
resumed,  "  the  O'Mahoney  did,  saying  that  the  time 
would  come  when  some  native  prince  would  offer  to 
redeem  the  Luck  of  the  State  as  an  act  of  piety  and 
patriotism.  He  prophesied  a  reward  of  at  least 
fifty  thousand  pounds.  And  now  it's  come — twice 
over ! " 

"  And  now  what  can  you  do  ?  " 

"Do?"  cried  O'Rourke.  "Faith,  what  would  I 
be  doing?  D'ye  realise  what  this  means  to  me,  dear 
heart?  It  means  you — independence,  a  little  for- 
tune, the  right  to  claim  my  wife ! "  He  drew  her 
to  him.  "  Do  ?  Sure,  and  by  the  first  train  and 
boat  I'll  go  to  Algeria,  find  Chambret,  get  him  to 
give  me  the  stone,  take  it  to  Rangoon,  claim  the 
reward,  repay  Chambret  and " 

"  And  what,  my  paladin?  " 

"  Dare  ye  ask  me  that,  madame?  .  .  .  Say, 
ye  wait  for  me?  " 


CHAPTER    FOUR  59 

She    laughed    softly.       "  Have    I    not    waited, 

Ulysses  ?  " 

"  Tell  me,"  he  demanded,  "  have  ye  talked  with 
anyone  about  this  letter?  " 

"Only  to   Clara  Plinlimmon  !  " 

"  Good  Lord !  "  groaned  the  Irishman.  "  Only 
to  her!  Could  ye  not  have  printed  broadsides,  the 
better  to  make  the  matter  public  ?  " 

"Did  I  do  wrong?" 

"  'Twas  indiscreet — and  that's  putting  it  mildly, 
me  dear.  D'ye  not  know  the  woman's  a  walking 
newspaper?  How  much  did  ye  tell  her?  Did  ye 
show  her  the  letter?  " 

"  No."  She  answered  his  last  question  first. 
"  And  I  told  her  very  little — only  about  this  reward 
for  a  ruby  I  didn't  know  you  owned.  We  were  won- 
dering where  to  find  you." 

"  And  she  told  no  one — or  who  do  you  think  ?  " 

The  woman  looked  a  little  frightened.  "  She  told 
— she  must  have  told  that  man — Monsieur  des 
Trebes." 

"  That  blackguard !  " 

"  He  was  with  us  on  the  yacht,  one  of  Clara's 
guests." 

"  She  has  a  pretty  taste  for  company — my  word! 
How  d'ye  know  she  told  him?  He  asked  you  about 
it?" 

"  The  letter?    Yes.    He  wanted  to  know  the  name 


60  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

of  the  solicitors  and  their  address.  I  wouldn't  tell 
him.  I — I  disliked  him." 

"  Had  ye  told  Lady  Plinlimmon?  " 

"No     .     .     ." 

"Praises  be  for  that!" 

"Why?" 

"  Because  .  .  ."  O'Rourke  paused,  vague 
suspicions  taking  shape  in  his  mind.  "Why  did 
he  ask  about  Chambret  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  How 
could  he  have  learned  that  the  jewel  was  with  him?  " 

He  jumped  up  and  began  to  pace  the  floor. 

His  wife  rose,  grave  with  consternation.  "  What,*' 
she  faltered — "  what  makes  you  think,  suspect — ?  " 

"  Because  the  fellow  lied  to  me  about  you  this 
very  night.  Ye  were  with  Lady  Plinlimmon  in  the 
Casino,  were  ye  not?  Faith,  and  didn't  I  see  ye?  I 
was  in  chase  of  ye  when  the  man  stopped  me  with 
his  rigamarole  about  representing  the  French  Gov- 
ernment and  having  a  secret  commission  for  me. 
Ye  heard  him  just  now.  .  .  .  And  when  I 
asked  him  was  he  of  your  party,  he  denied  knowing 
Lady  Plinlimmon.  .  .  .  He  made  a  later  ap- 
pointment with  me  here,  to  talk  things  over.  I'm 
thinking  he  only  wanted  time  to  think  up  a  scheme 
for  getting  me  out  of  the  way.  Also,  he  wanted  to 
find  out  where  Chambret  was.  D'ye  not  see  through 
his  little  game?  To  get  me  away  from  Monte  Carlo 
by  the  first  morning  train,  that  we  might  not  meet; 
to  get  me  on  the  first  Atlantic  liner,  that  I  might 


CHAPTER   FOUR  61 

not  interfere  with  his  plot  against  Chambret.  For 
what  other  reason  would  he  give  me  sealed  orders? 
Sealed  orders !  "  O'Rourke  laughed  curtly,  taking  the 
long  envelope  from  his  pocket  and  tearing  it  open. 
"  Behold  his  sealed  orders,  if  ye  please ! " 

He  shuffled  rapidly  through  his  fingers  six  sheets 
of  folded  letter-paper,  guiltless  of  a  single  pen- 
scratch,  crumpled  them  into  a  wad  and  threw  it 
from  him. 

"  What  more  do  I  need  to  prove  that  he's  con- 
spiring to  steal  the  Pool  of  Flame  and  claim  for 
himself  the  reward?  ...  A  bankrupt,  discred- 
ited, with  nothing  but  his  title  and  his  fame  as  a 
duellist  to  give  him  standing:  is  it  wonderful  that 
he's  grasping  at  any  chance  to  recoup  his  fortunes  ?  " 
He  took  a  swift  stride  toward  the  door,  halted, 
turned.  "  And  young  Glynn?  "  he  demanded.  "  Was 
he  with  you,  and  was  he  thick  with  this  precious 
rogue  of  a  vicomte?  " 

"  They  were  much  together." 

"  Faith,  then,  it's  clear  as  window-glass  that  the 
two  of  them,  both  broke  and  desperate,  have  figured 
out  this  thing  between  them.  .  .  .  Well  and 
good!  I  want  no  more  than  a  hint  of  warn- 
ing.  .  .  .» 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  knocking.  With  a  start 
and  a  muttered  exclamation  he  remembered  Von 
Einem,  and  stepped  to  the  door  and  out  into  the  cor- 
ridor, shutting  the  woman  in. 


62  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

She  remained  where  he  had  left  her,  pretty  brows 
knitted  with  thought,  for  a  time  abstractedly  con- 
scious of  the  murmur  of  voices  in  the  hallway.  These 
presently  ceased  as  the  speakers  moved  away.  She 
turned  to  one  of  the  windows,  leaning  against  its 
frame  and  staring  at  the  ominous  flicker  and  flare 
of  sheet-lightning  which  lent  the  night  a  ghastly 
luminosity,  making  plain  the  progress  of  the  storm, 
rendering  tawdry  and  garish  and  mean  the  innu- 
merable lights  of  the  gardens. 

A  cool  breeze  sprang  up,  bellying  the  curtains. 
The  woman  expanded  to  it,  reviving  in  its  fresh 
breath  from  the  enervating  influence  of  the  evening's 
still  heat.  Her  intuitive  faculties  began  to  work  more 
vivaciously ;  she  began  to  divine  that  which  had  been 
mysterious  to  her  ere  now.  .  .  . 

Far  out  upon  the  bosom  of  the  Mediterranean  a 
long  line  of  white  water  cut  the  density  of  the  black, 
spreading,  widening,  sweeping  in  toward  the  land. 
The  lightning  grew  more  intense  and  incessant,  the 
thunder  beating  the  long  roll  of  the  charge.  A 
heavy  gust  of  air  chill  as  death  made  her  shiver. 
She  shrank  away  from  the  windows,  a  little  awed, 
wishing  for  O'Rourke's  return,  wondering  what  had 
made  him  leave  her  so  abruptly. 

Then  suddenly  she  knew.  .  .  .  She  could 
have  screamed  with  horror. 

Almost  simultaneously  the  door  slammed :  her  hus- 
band had  returned.  With  a  little  cry  .she  flung  her- 
self upon  him,  clinging  to  him,  panting,  sobbing. 


CHAPTER   FOUR  63 

"  Tell  me,"  she  demanded,  "  what  you  intend  to 
do  ?  Do  you  mean  to  fight  him — Des  Trebes  ?  " 

"  In  the  morning,"  he  answered  lightly,  holding 
her  tight  and  comforting  her.  "  'Tis  unavoidable ; 
I  provoked  his  challenge.  He  was  obliged  to  fight. 
But  don't  let  that  worry  ye " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear ! "  She  sobbed  convul- 
sively upon  his  breast. 

"'Twill  be  nothing — hardly  that;  an  annoyance 
—no  more.  Believe  me,  dear." 

"  What  can  you  mean ?  " 

"  That  the  man  will  never  consent  to  weapons 
worthy  the  name.  He  values  his  precious  hide  too 
highly,  and  he's  not  going  to  put  himself  in  the 
way  of  being  injured  when  he  has  the  Pool  of 
Flame  to  steal.  Be  easy  on  that  score,  darling — 
and  have  faith  in  me  a  little.  I'll  not  let  him  harm 
me  by  so  much  as  a  scratch." 

"Ah,  but  how  can  I  tell?  .  .  .  Dearest,  my 
dearest,  why  not  give  it  up — not  the  duel  alone,  but 
all  this  life  of  roaming  and  adventure  that  keeps  us 
apart?  Am  I  not  worth  a  little  sacrifice?  Is  my 
love  not  recompense  enough  for  the  loss  of  your 
absolute  independence?  Listen,  dear,  I  have  thought 
of  something;  I  will  make  you  independent,  I  will 
settle  upon  you  all  that  I  possess.  I " 

"  Faith,  and  I  know  ye  don't  for  an  instant  think 
I'd  dream  of  accepting  that!" 

"  But  give  it  up.  What  is  the  world's  esteem 
when  you  have  me  to  love  and  honour  you? 


Come  to  me,  Terence.  I  need  you — I  need  you  des- 
perately. I  need  the  protection  of  your  arm  as 
well  as  of  your  name.  I  need — I  need  my  husband !  *' 

"  I  will,"  he  said  gently ;  "  sweetheart,  I  promise 
ye  I  will — in  ninety  days.  Give  me  that  respite, 
give  me  that  time  in  which  to  make  or  break  my 
fortunes.  Give  me  a  chance  to  take  the  Pool  of 
Flame  to  Rangoon — nay,  meet  me  there  in  ninety 
days.  I  will  be  there,  and  if  I  have  won,  I  will 
come  to  you  as  one  who  has  the  right  to  claim  his 
wife;  but  if  I  have  lost,  still  will  I  come  to  you,  a 
broken  man  but  your  faithful  lover — come  to  you  to 
be  healed  and  comforted.  .  .  .  Dear  heart  of 
me,  give  me  this  last  chance ! " 

With  an  eldritch  shriek  and  a  mighty  rushing 
wind  the  storm  broke  over  the  mainland  and  a  roar- 
ing rain  came  down.  The  lightning  became  as  one 
livid  glare  broken  by  intervals  of  darkness  as  negli- 
gible as  the  shadows  on  a  cinemetograph  display. 
Crash  upon  crash  of  terrific  violence  drowned  their 
voices. 

Impulsively  the  Irishman  turned  off  the  lights, 
and,  lifting  his  wife  in  his  arms  bore  her  to  an  arm- 
chair by  the  window. 

The  storm  waned  in  fury,  passed,  died  in  dull 
distant  mutterings.  Still  she  rested  in  his  embrace, 
her  flushed  face,  wet  with  tears,  pillowed  to  his  cheek, 
her  mouth  seeking  his.  .  .  . 

Vague  murmurings  sounded  in  the  stillness, 
sighs. 


CHAPTER 
FIVE 

AT  five  in  the  morning  a  heavy  motor-car  of  the  most 
advanced  type  stole  in  sinister  silence  out  of  the 
courtyard  of  the  Hotel  d'Orient,  at  the  same  sedate 
pace  and  with  the  same  surreptitious  air  skulked 
through  the  town,  and  finally  swung  eastwards  upon 
the  Route  de  la  Corniche,  suddenly  discarding  all 
pretence  of  docility  and  swooping  onward  with  a 
windy  roar,  its  powerful  motor  purring  like  some 
gigantic  tiger-cat. 

It  carried  four:  at  the  wheel  a  goggled  and  en- 
nuied  operator  in  shapeless  and  hideous  garments; 
in  the  tonneau  its  owner,  a  middle-aged  French 
manufacturer  with  pouched  eyes,  a  liver,  lank  jaws 
clean-scraped,  and  an  expression  of  high-minded 
devotion  to  duty;  Captain  von  Einem  in  uniform; 
and  Colonel  O'Rourke. 

As  befitted  his  importance  as  a  principal  in  an 
affair  of  honour,  the  Irishman  had  the  middle  seat, 
flanked  on  either  hand  by  his  seconds.  He  sat  erect, 
arms  folded,  a  shadowy  smile  upon  his  lips  and  in 
the  eyes  that  watched  the  dawn-tinted  waters  of  the 
Mediterranean.  Now  and  again  he  darted  sidelong, 

65 


66  THE   POOL    OF   FLAME 

whimsical  glances  at  his  companions  and  found  them 
equally  hopeless,  imperturbable  with  their  look  of 
sanctified  solemnity.  For  no  right-minded  Euro- 
pean, be  he  either  French  or  German,  would  be 
guilty  of  a  sense  of  humour  when  about  to  partici- 
pate in  a  duel  by  the  code.  O'Rourke's  despair  of 
them  both  was  betrayed  in  the  quizzical  droop  of  his 
mobile  lips  and  the  faint  knitting  of  his  brows.  He 
could  have  enjoyed  the  situation  immensely  if  only 
there  had  been  someone  handy  to  meet  him  half- 
way. But  the  shadow  of  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  des 
Trebes'  fame  as  a  professional  duellist  lay  stark  and 
dark  upon  their  imaginations.  And  O'Rourke 
would  have  been  bored  beyond  expression  had  not 
God  sent  a  dawn  of  glory  to  gild  the  day  and  dwarf 
to  farcical  insignificance  the  grimly  silly  combat  that 
had  been  arranged. 

As  the  car  raced  on  the  Irishman's  attention 
ranged  the  distances  and  his  heart  welled  with  grati- 
tude for  a  world  so  beautiful.  The  sky  was  like  a 
turquoise  cup  empty  save  for  a  filmy  froth  of 
cloud  like  a  tissue  of  rose  petals  in  the  south.  The 
sea  lay  on  his  right,  a  flawless  sheet  of  malachite 
edged  with  frost  along  the  shores.  Northwards 
the  hills  loomed  with  brooding  heads,  a  meditative 
brotherhood  cowled  in  purple  shadows.  The  road 
swung  and  dipped  along  the  lip  of  the  world,  pass- 
ing orange  groves  of  green  and  gold,  thickets  and 
tangles  of  subtropical  verdure — a  bank  of  bougaia- 


CHAPTER   FIVE  67 

villea  blazing  against  a  wall  of  green  like  imperial 
jade,  clusters  and  avenues  of  palms.  .  .  .  And 
the  rain-washed  air  was  as  clean  as  truth,  as  heady 
as  youth. 

For  a  single  moment  the  adventurer's  happiness 
was  clouded  with  mutinous  impatience  with  the  situ- 
ation. He  was  young;  he  loved  and  was  beloved; 
the  world  was  gracious,  life  joyous;  he  had  but  to 
stretch  forth  his  hand  to  pluck  the  apple  of  his  for- 
tunes. Why  must  he  risk  all  this,  that  men  might 
continue  to  respect  him?  Why  had  he  forced  him- 
self into  this  scrape,  brought  upon  himself  the  ne- 
cessity of  duelling  with  a  dishonoured  and  honour- 
less  rogue?  To  satisfy  his  sense  of  justice,  to  pun- 
ish wrongdoers — or  to  feed  his  vanity,  pamper  his 
temper,  sate  his  craving  for  excitement? 

Perilously  on  the  verge  of  seeing  through  himself, 
he  abruptly  desisted  from  introspection,  regaining 
the  pinnacle  of  his  optimism  without  an  effort: 
that  is  to  say,  with  Celtic  ease.  The  gym- 
nastic feats  of  his  emotions  sometimes  surprised 
even  himself.  .  .  .  Thenceforward  he  denied 
care  and  responsibility.  The  matutinal  event  was 
permitted  to  disturb  his  equilibrium  not  in  the  least ; 
a  passing  annoyance,  a  vexing  hindrance,  yet  a 
necessary  ceremony,  it  would  soon  be  over  and  done 
with.  No  apprehensions  as  to  its  outcome  troubled 
him;  he  continued  in  his  magnificent  self-esteem  in- 
rulnerable,  impregnable,  master  of  his  fate,  captain 


68  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

of  his  soul.  With  regard  to  fatalism  he  was  a  sub- 
lime agnostic ;  and  his  self-confidence  was  prepos- 
terous. .  .  . 

At  the  end  of  an  hour's  run,  disturbed  by  one  or 
two  absurdly  grave  conferences  between  the  seconds, 
in  appropriate  monotones,  the  mechanician  put  on 
the  brakes  and  slowed  down  the  car,  then  deftly 
swung  it  into  a  narrow  lane,  a  leafy  tunnel  through 
which  it  crawled  for  a  minute  or  two  ere  debouching 
into  a  broad  and  sunlit  meadow,  walled  in  by  wood- 
land, conspicuously  secluded. 

The  car  stopped.  Von  Einem  and  Juilliard  de- 
scended. The  operator  doffed  his  goggles,  pushed 
back  his  cap,  and  lit  a  cheerful  cigarette.  O'Rourke 
remained  in  the  tonneau,  decently  reserved  but  mo- 
mentarily in  danger  of  spraining  the  etiquette  of 
the  situation  by  betraying  too  vivid  an  interest  in 
the  proceedings. 

To  one  side  and  at  a  little  distance  a  second 
motor-car  stood  at  rest;  its  operator  had  removed 
the  hood  and  was  tinkering  with  the  motor  in  a 
most  matter-of-fact  manner.  In  the  body  of  the 
machine  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  des  Trebes,  ostenta- 
tiously unaware  of  the  advent  of  the  second  party, 
sat  twisting  rapier-points  to  his  moustaches  and 
concentrating  his  gaze  on  infinity.  O'Rourke  ob- 
served with  malicious  delight  the  nose  of  the  duellist, 
much  inflamed. 

Advancing  from  his   antagonist's   position   three 


CHAPTER   FIVE  69 

preternaturally  serious  gentlemen  of  France  in  black 
frock  coats  and  straight-brimmed  silk  hats  waded 
ankle  deep  in  dripping  grass  to  meet  O'Rourke's 
representatives.  Half-way  to  them  Monsieur  Juil- 
liard — O'Rourke's  Frenchman — remembered  himself 
and  came  hastily  back  to  discard  his  motor-cap  and 
assume  a  stove-pipe  hat  which  he  unearthed  from  a 
trunk  in  the  rear  of  the  machine.  Then  he  rejoined 
Von  Einem,  leaving  his  principal  hugely  comforted. 
O'Rourke,  indeed,  felt  at  the  moment  that  nothing 
on  earth  could  have  induced  him  to  go  forth  to  be 
shot  without  at  least  one  silk  hat  to  lend  respecta- 
bility to  his  demise. 

The  two  parties  met,  saluted  one  another  with 
immense  reserve,  and  retired  to  a  suitable  distance 
to  confer;  something  which  they  did  wordily,  with 
enthusiasm  and  many  picturesque  gestures.  At  first 
strangely  amicable,  the  proceedings  soon  struck  a 
snag.  A  serious  difference  of  opinion  arose. 
O'Rourke  divined  that  the  conference  had  gone  into 
executive  session  upon  the  question  of  weapons.  He 
treated  himself  to  a  secret  grin,  having  anticipated 
this  trouble. 

The  choice  of  weapons  being  his,  as  the  challenged, 
he  had  modestly  selected  revolvers  and  had  brought 
with  him  a  brace  of  Webleys,  burly  pieces  of  pocket 
ordnance  with  short  barrels  and  cylinders  chambered 
to  hold  half  a  dozen  .45  cartridges.  They  were  not 
pretty,  for  they  had  seen  service  in  their  owner's 


70  THE   POOL    OF   FLAME 

hands  for  a  number  of  years,  but  they  were  undeni- 
ably built  for  business.  And  at  sight  of  them  the 
friends  of  the  vicomte  recoiled  in  horror.  The  sur- 
geon detached  himself  from  the  group  and  strolled 
off,  regarding  high  Heaven  and  shaking  his  head. 
Von  Einem  stood  to  one  side,  disgusted,  wrinkling 
a  scornful  nose.  The  three  remaining  Frenchmen 
chattered  madly,  as  noisy  as  a  congress  of  rooks. 

Eventually  a  compromise  was  arrived  at.  Mon- 
sieur Juilliard  stepped  back,  saluted,  and  with  Von 
Einem  returned  to  his  principal,  his  face  a  mask  of 
disappointment.  As  for  himself,  he  told  O'Rourke, 
he  was  desolated,  but  the  seconds  of  Monsieur  des 
Trebes  had  positively  refused  to  consent  to  turning 
a  meeting  of  honour  into  a  massacre.  They  pro- 
posed to  substitute  regulation  French  duelling  pis- 
tols as  sanctioned  by  the  Code.  Such  as  that  which 
Monsieur  le  Colonel  O'Rourke  might  observe  in  Mon- 
sieur Juilliard's  hand. 

O'Rourke  blinked  and  sniffed  at  it.  "  Sure,"  he 
contended,  "  'tis  a  magnifying  glass  I  need  to  make 
it  visible  to  me  undressed  eye.  What  the  divvle 
does  it  carry — a  dried  pea?  What  d'they  think 
we're  here  for,  if  not  to  slay  one  another  with  due 
ceremony?  Ask  them  that.  Am  I  to  salve  the 
vicomte's  wounded  honour  by  smiting  him  with  a 
spit-ball?  I  grant  ye,  'tis  magnificent,  but  'tis  not 
a  pistol." 

Grumbling,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded. 
As  he  had  foreseen  and  prophesied,  so  had  it  come 


CHAPTER    FIVE  71 

to  pass.  Yet  he  had  to  grumble,  partly  because  he 
was  the  O'Rourke,  partly  for  effect.  Faith!  himself 
had  not  got  out  of  bed  at  that  unholy  hour  to  play 
children's  games.  Thankful  he  was  that  he  had  not 
named  swords  for  the  combat,  else  the  squeamish- 
ness  of  the  vicomte's  seconds  would  have  put  him  to 
the  stern  necessity  of  prodding  that  gentleman  with 
a  knitting-needle.  .  .  .  And  more  to  the  same 
effect. 

None  the  less,  he  consented,  and  in  the  highest 
spirits  left  the  car  and  ploughed  through  the  lush 
wet  grass  to  the  spot  selected  for  the  encounter,  in 
the  shadow  of  the  trees  near  the  eastern  border  of 
the  meadow.  Here,  the  seconds  having  tossed  for 
sides,  he  took  a  stand  at  one  end  of  a  sixty-foot 
stretch  and,  still  indecorously  amused,  received  a 
loaded  pistol  from  Von  Einem. 

Pes  Trebes  confronted  him,  white  with  rage,  re- 
gretting already  (O'Rourke  made  no  doubt)  that  he 
had  not  accepted  the  Webleys.  The  Irishman's  open 
ccntempt  maddened  the  man. 

But  everybody  else  was  very,  very  hugely  dis- 
tressed. Such  lack  of  respect  for  his  adversary,  such 
unseemly  hilarity  on  the  part  of  a  principal,  was 
extraordinarily  painful  to  them  all — with  the  single 
exception  of  Captain  von  Einem,  whose  attitude 
branded  the  affair  as  neither  amusing  nor  worthy  of 
serious  consideration.  Juilliard,  on  the  other  hand, 
seemed  to  be  fluttering  on  the  verge  of  apology. 

The  surgeon  opened  his  case  of  instruments  and 


72  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

made  a  show  of  bandages.  The  seconds  retired  to 
a  perfectly  safe  distance,  Von  Einem  holding  the 
watch,  one  of  Des  Trebes'  seconds  a  handkerchief. 
The  chauffeurs  threw  away  their  cigarettes  and  sat 
up,  for  the  first  time  roused  out  of  their  professional 
air  of  blase  indifference. 

"  One,"  cried  the  German   clearly. 

Des  Trebes  raised  his  arm  and  levelled  his  pistol 
at  O'Rourke's  head.  A  faint  flush  coloured  his 
face,  but  his  eye  was  cold  and  hard  behind  the  sight 
and  the  hand  that  held  the  weapon  was  as  steady  as 
if  supported  by  an  invisible  rest. 

"  Two,"  said  Von  Einem. 

O'Rourke  measured  the  distance  with  his  eye  and 
raised  his  arm  from  the  elbow  only,  holding  the 
pistol  with  a  loose  grip. 

"Three,"  said  Von  Einem. 

The  handkerchief  fell. 

The  Irishman  fired  without  moving.  Des  Trebes' 
•weapon  was  discharged  almost  .simultaneously,  but 
with  a  ruined  aim ;  its  bullet  went  nowhere  in  par- 
ticular. The  Frenchman  dropped  the  weapon  and, 
wincing,  examined  solicitously  a  knuckle  from  which 
O'Rourke's  shot  had  struck  a  tiny  particle  of  skin. 
His  seconds  rushed  to  him  with  cries,  preceded  by 
the  surgeon  with  bandages.  O'Rourke  gracefully 
surrendered  his  artillery  to  Juilliard,  laughed  at  the 
vicomte  again,  and  strolled  back  to  the  motor-car. 

Juilliard  and  Von  Einem  presently  joined  him,  the 


CHAPTER   FIVE  73 

former  insistently  anxious  to  have  O'Rourke  descend 
and  clasp  the  hand  of  fraternal  friendship  with  the 
vicomte.  But  the  Irishman  refused. 

"  Faith,  no ! "  he  laughed.  "  Niver !  I'm  too  tim- 
orous a  man  to  dare  it.  Sure  and  hasn't  he  hugged 
both  his  seconds  and  the  surgeon  too,  already?  For 
me  own  part  I've  no  mind  to  be  kissed.  Let's  hurry 
away  before  he  celebrates  further  by  imprinting  a 
chaste  salute  upon  the  cheek  of  our  chauffeur. 
.  .  .  Besides,  I've  a  train  to  catch." 


CHAPTER 
SIX 

EVENTS  marched  to  schedule;  what  O'Rourke 
planned  came  serenely  to  pass.  He  experienced  a 
day  as  replete  with  emotions  as  the  night  that  pre- 
ceded it  and  more  marked  by  activity.  Nothing  hin- 
dering, he  left  the  battle-scarred  Vicomte  des  Trebes 
upon  the  field  of  honour  at  half-past  six;  at  seven 
forty-five  he  settled  himself  in  a  coach  of  the  Cote 
d'Azur  Rapide,  en  route  for  Marseilles — a  happy 
man,  for  he  was  not  alone.  .  .  .  At  a  quarter 
to  one  in  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  he  boarded 
the  little  steamer  Tabarka  of  the  Mediterranean 
ferry  service ;  and  half  an  hour  later  stood  by  the 
after-rail  of  its  promenade-deck,  watching  the  dis- 
tances widen  between  him  and  all  that  he  held  be- 
loved. 

The  port  of  Marseilles — the  harjbour  with  its 
clustered  shipping,  its  acres  of  blunt  iron  masts 
and  stumpy  funnels,  its  clumps  of  soaring  wooden 
spars  and  labyrinthine  webs  of  rigging,  with  the 
city  that  rose  behind  all  bright  and  glittering  in  the 
sunshine — contracted;  outlines  blurred,  ran  into 
one  another;  it  became  as  a  shadow  beneath  a 

74 


CHAPTER    SIX  75 

shadow.  France  itself  receded,  dwindled,  dropped 
away  over  the  lip  of  the  world  until  it  showed 
vaguely  as  a  reef  of  cloud  low  upon  the  watery 
horizon.  There  remained  only  the  miraculously  blue 
disc  of  the  sea  over-arched  by  the  dense  blue  hemi- 
sphere of  the  skies,  the  weltering  white  wake, 
slowly  drifting  clouds,  gulls  wheeling  and  veering, 
the  Tabarka  surging  southwards,  all  a-tremble  with 
the  vibration  of  its  engines;  and  the  memory  of  his 
wife  as  he  had  last  seen  her,  only  a  few  minutes 
before  his  embarkation — eyes  divinely  moist  and 
shining,  lips  divinely  warm  and  quivering,  her  whole 
being  radiating  the  passion  of  her  devotion  to  the 
man  who  carried  with  him  the  promise  of  her  con- 
stancy. 

"In  ninety  days,  dear  boy.  .  .  .  Ah,  Ter- 
ence, Terence,  if  you  should  fail  me  ...  !  *' 

"  I  shall  not  fail.  .  .  .  Rangoon  in  ninety 
days.  Dear  heart,  I  will  be  there.  .  .  ." 

As  if  to  feed  the  hunger  of  his  heart  he  strained 
his  vision  to  see  the  last  of  the  land  that  held  her. 
At  length  it  disappeared,  and  then  for  the  first  time 
he  consciously  moved — drew  a  hand  across  his  eyes, 
sighed  and  turned  away. 

Picking  his  way  through  the  cosmopolitan  throng 
of  passengers,  he  went  below,  found  his  stateroom, 
and  subsided  into  the  berth  for  a  sorely-needed  nap ; 
instead  of  indulging  in  which,  however,  he  lay  star- 
ing wide-eyed  at  his  problem.  He  had  much  to  ae- 


76  THE   POOL    OF  FLAME 

complish,  much  to  guard  against.  Des  Trebes 
bulked  large  in  the  background  of  perils  he  must 
anticipate;  O'Rourke  was  by  no  means  disposed  to 
flatter  himself  that  he  had  scotched  the  schemes  of 
the  vicomte.  He  was  almost  painfully  alive  to  the 
fact  that  the  Frenchman  had  stipulated  on  that  far- 
cical exchange  of  toy  bullets,  not  because  he  wished 
to  spare  his  antagonist,  not  because  he  would  not 
cheerfully  have  blown  him  to  eternity,  but  because 
he  was — in  a  word — afraid.  The  Irishman  himself 
had  some  slight  reputation  as  a  man  of  ready  ad- 
dress with  all  manner  of  weapons,  while  the  French- 
man was  admittedly  an  indifferent  shot;  a  majority 
of  his  victories  had  been  won  with  the  rapier,  and 
while  fortuitously  he  might  have  slain  O'Rourke  in 
a  meeting  with  firearms  of  sufficient  weight,  he  would 
have  run  a  greater  chance  of  being  killed  outright, 
if  not  disabled  to  an  extent  which  would  incapacitate 
himself  from  further  attention  to  the  Pool  of  Flame. 
If  O'Rourke  had  not  had  the  foresight  to  declare 
for  pistols,  there  might  very  well  have  been  an- 
other ending  to  that  chapter. 

Further,  the  adventurer  shrewdly  surmised  that 
the  bankrupt  Vicomte  des  Trebes  had  a  second  string 
to  his  bow :  should  he  fail  by  any  mischance  to  accom- 
plish what  he  designed  with  regard  to  the  Pool  of 
Flame,  a  sovereign  salve  to  his  chagrin  might  well 
be  found  in  the  fortune  of  Madame  O'Rourke, 
Princesse  de  Grandlieu.  And  it  would  seriously 


CHAPTER    SIX  37 

complicate  his  wooing  if  the  object  thereof  happened 
to  be  the  widow  of  a  man  he  had  killed  in  personal 
combat.  On  the  other  hand,  nothing  would  be  easier 
than  to  allow  O'Rourke  to  proceed  joyously  upon  his 
chosen  way  until  he  could  be  ambushed  by  a  hired 
assassin  at  some  convenient  dark  corner  of  Africa 
or  Asia — ambushed  and  eliminated,  leaving  the  field 
clear  in  two  directions. 

O'Rourke  laughed  at  this,  however  sincerely  he 
considered  it  a  possibility.  "Let  'em  try  it,"  he 
said  aloud.  And  suddenly,  despairing  of  sleep  in 
his  stuffy  cabin  and  rather  excited  humour,  he  rolled 
out  of  his  berth  and  went  on  deck. 

But  this  did  next  occur  until  several  hours  had 
elapsed.  He  made  his  second  public  appearance 
on  the  Tabarka  at  the  hour  of  sunset;  and  in  the 
act  of  making  it,  turned  a  corner  and  ran  plump 
into  the  arms  of  a  young  person  in  tweeds  and  a 
steamer  cap — a  stoutish  young  Englishman  with  a 
yivid  complexion  and  a  bulldog  pipe,  nervousness 
tempering  his  native  home-brewed  insolence,  the 
blank  vacuity  of  his  eyes  hopelessly  betraying  the 
calibre  of  his  intellect. 

A  sudden  gust  of  anger  swept  O'Rourke  off  his 
figurative  feet.  He  stopped  short,  blocking  the 
gangway  and  the  young  man's  progress.  So  this 
was  what  had  been  set  to  spy  upon  him ! 

"  Good  evening  to  ye,"  he  said  coldly,  fixing  the 
Honourable  Mr.  Glynn  with  an  interrogative  eye 


78  THE    POOL   OF   FLAME 

that  served  to  deepen  his  embarrassment  and  con- 
sternation. "  I  trust  I  didn't  hurt  ye,  Mr.  Glynn." 

"  Oh  no — not  at  all,"  stammered  the  Englishman. 
"  Not  in  the  least.  No."  He  looked  right  and  left 
of  O'Rourke  for  a  way  round  him,  found  himself 
with  no  choice  but  to  retreat,  and  lost  his  presence 
of  mind  completely.  "  I — I  say,"  he  continued  des- 
perately, "  I  say,  have  you  a  match?  " 

"  Possibly,"  conceded  O'Rourke.  "  But  I've  yet 
to  meet  him.  Of  this  ye  may  feel  sure,  however: 
if  I  have,  'tis  neither  yourself  nor  Des  Trebes.  Now 
run  along  and  figure  it  out  for  yourself — what  I'm 
meaning.  Good  night." 

He  brushed  past  the  man,  leaving  him  astare 
in  sudden  pallor,  and  went  his  way,  more  than  a 
little  disgusted  with  himself  for  his  lack  of  dis- 
cretion. As  matters  turned  out,  however,  he  had 
little  to  reproach  himself  with;  for  his  outbreak 
served  to  keep  young  Glynn  at  a  respectful  distance 
throughout  the  remainder  of  the  voyage.  They  met 
but  once  more,  and  on  that  occasion  the  English- 
man behaved  himself  admirably  according  to  the 
tenets  of  his  caste — met  O'Rourke's  challenging  gaze 
without  a  flicker  of  recognition,  looked  him  up  and 
down  calmly  with  the  deadly  ennuied  air  peculiar  to 
the  underdone  British  youth  of  family  and  social 
position,  and  wandered  calmly  away. 

O'Rourke  watched  him  out  of  sight,  a  smile  of 
Appreciation  curving  his  lips  and  tempering  the  per- 


CHAPTER    SIX  79 

turbed  and  dangerous  light  in  his  eyes.  "  There's 
stuff  in  the  lad,  after  all,"  he  conceded  without  a 
grudge,  "  if  he  can  carry  a  situation  off  like  that. 
I'm  doubting  not  at  all  that  something  might  be 
whipped  out  of  him,  if  he  weren't  what  he's  made 
himself — a  slave  to  whiskey." 

For  all  of  which  appreciation,  however,  he  soon 
wearied  of  Mr.  Glynn.  During  the  first  day  ashore 
it  was  not  so  bad;  there  was  something  amusing 
in  being  so  openly  dogged  by  a  well-set-up  young 
Englishman  who  had  quite  ceased  to  disguise  his  in- 
terest. But  after  that  his  shadowy  surveillance 
proved  somewhat  distracting  to  a  man  busy  with 
important  affairs.  And  toward  evening  of  the  sec- 
ond day  O'Rourke  lost  patience. 

All  day  long  in  the  sun,  without  respite,  he  had 
knocked  about  from  pillar  to  post  of  Algiers,  seek- 
ing news  of  Chambret ;  and  not  until  at  the  eleventh 
hour  had  he  secured  the  information  he  needed. 
Then,  hurrying  back  to  his  hotel,  he  made  arrange- 
ments to  have  his  luggage  cared  for  during  an  ab- 
sence of  indeterminate  duration,  hastily  crammed  a 
few  indispensables  into  a  kit-box,  and  having  de- 
spatched that  to  the  railway  terminal,  sought  the 
restaurant  for  an  early  meal. 

In  the  act  of  consuming  his  soup  he  became  aware 
that  the  Honourable  Bertie,  in  a  dinner-coat  and  a 
state  of  fidgets,  had  wandered  down  the  outer  corri- 
dor, paused  at  the  restaurant  door  and  espied  his 


80  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

quarry.  The  fact  that  O'Rourke  was  dining  with 
one  eye  on  the  clock  and  in  a  dust-proof,  dust-col- 
oured suit  of  drill,  was  enough  to  disturb  seriously 
the  poise  of  the  Englishman.  O'Rourke  saw  him 
call  a  waiter,  give  him  some  guarded  instructions, 
and  send  him  scurrying  off.  Then,  seating  himself 
at  a  table  which  O'Rourke  would  have  to  pass  in 
order  to  leave,  Glynn  desired  an  absinthe  drip  of  a 
second  waiter,  and  sat  contentedly  consuming  it,  his 
attention  divided  between  the  Irishman  and  the  door. 

Exasperation  stirred  in  O'Rourke.  He  eyed  the 
young  man  rather  morosely  throughout  the  balance 
of  his  meal,  a  purpose  forming  in  his  mind  and  at- 
taining the  stature  of  a  definite  plan  of  action  with- 
out opposition  from  the  dictates  of  prudence.  And 
at  length,  swallowing  his  coffee  and  feeing  his  servi- 
tor, he  rose,  crossed  the  room  with  a  firm  tread, 
and  came  to  a  full  stop  at  the  Honourable  Mr. 
Glynn's  table. 

Momentarily  he  held  his  tongue,  staring  down 
at  the  young  man  while  drumming  on  the  marble 
with  the  fingers  of  one  hand.  Then  Glynn,  glanc- 
ing up  in  a  state  of  somewhat  panic-stricken  in- 
quiry which  strove  vainly  to  seem  insouciant,  met  the 
level  stare  of  the  adventurer  and  noticed  the  tense 
lines  of  his  lips. 

"  I — I  say,"  he  floundered,  "  what's  the  matter 
with  you,  anyway?  Can't  you  leave  me  a — alone?  " 

"  I've  been  thinking,"  said  O'Rourke  crisply,  dis- 


CHAPTER    SIX  81 

regarding  the  other's  remark  entirely,  "  that  it  might 
be  of  interest  to  ye  and  save  ye  a  bit  of  botheration 
to  know  that  I'm  going  up  to  Biskra  by  to-night's 
train.  It  leaves  in  ten  minutes,  so  I'll  have  to  forego 
the  pleasure  of  your  society  on  the  trip." 

Glynn  got  a  grip  on  himself  and  pulled  together 
the  elements  of  his  manhood.  He  managed  to  infuse 
blank  insolence  into  his  stare,  and  said  "Ow?" 
with  that  singularly  maddening  inflection  of  which 
the  Englishman  alone  is  master;  as  who  should 
say,  "  Why  the  dooce  d'you  annoy  me  with  your 
bally  plans  ?  " 

"  Don't  believe  I  know  you,  do  I?  "  he  drawled. 

"  I  don't  believe  ye  do,  me  lad." 

"  Can't  say  I  wish  to  very  badly,  either." 

"  I  believe  that,"  O'Rourke  chuckled  grimly. 

The  meaning  in  his  tone  sent  the  blood  into  the 
young  man's  face,  a  fiery  flood  of  resentment. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  afraid  of  you,  y'know,"  he  said, 
bristling.  "  Of  course  you're  not  going  to  Biskra, 
or  you  wouldn't  tell  me  so.  But  if  you  do,  I  shall 
make  it  my  business  to  find  out  and  follow  by  the 
next  train — bringing  Des  Trebes  with  me." 

"Ah,  will  ye  so?  Ye  mean  to  warn  me  he's  in 
Algeria  too  ?  " 

"  His  boat's  due  now ;  I'm  expecting  him  at  any 
moment,  if  you  wish  to  know."  O'Rourke's  smiling 
contempt  was  angering  the  young  man  and  render- 
ing him  reckless.  "You'll  be  glad  to  know  you've 


88  THE   POOL   OF  FLAME 

made  a  dem'  ass  of  yourself — if  you  really  are  going 
to  Biskra." 

"Praise  from  Sir  Hubert " 

"  Oh,  don't  you  think  I  mind  giving  you  a  twelve- 
hour  start;  you  won't  gain  anything  by  it.  Y'see 
I  know  where  you're  going,  and  I  know  it's  not 
there.  If  you'll  take  a  fool's  advice,  you'll  turn  back 
now.  You'll  come  back  empty-handed  anyway.  I 
don't  mind  telling  you  that  we  mean  to  have  that 
ruby,  Des  Trebes  and  I,  and  we  know  where  it  is. 
You're  only  taking  needless  trouble  by  interfering." 

Truth  was  speaking  from  the  bottom  of  the 
absinthe  tumbler.  O'Rourke's  brows  went  up  and 
he  whistled  noiselessly,  for  he  realised  that  at  least 
Glynn  believed  what  he  was  admitting.  "  So  that's 
the  way  of  it,  eh  ?  I  admire  your  candour,  me  boy ; 
but  be  careful  and  not  go  too  far  with  it.  'Twill 
likely  prove  disastrous  to  ye,  I'm  fearing.  .  .  . 
But  tit  for  tat;  ye've  made  me  a  handsome  present 
according  to  your  lights,  of  what  ye  most  aptly 
term  a  fool's  advice,  and  'tis  meself  who'll  not  be  out- 
done at  that  game.  For  yourself,  then,  take  warn- 
ing from  the  experience  of  one  who's  seen  a  bit  more 
of  this  side  of  the  earth  than  most  men  have,  and 
— don't  let  Des  Trebes  know  ye've  talked  so  freely. 
He's  a  bad-tempered  sort  and  .  .  .  But  I'm 
obliged  to  ye  and  I  bid  ye  a  good  evening." 


CHAPTER 
SEVEN 

SOUTH  of  Biskra  there  is  always  trouble  to  be  had 
for  the  seeking ;  south  of  Biskra  there  is  never  peace. 
A  guerilla  warfare  is  waged  perennially  between  the 
lords  of  the  desert,  the  Touaregg  on  the  one  hand, 
and  the  advance  agents  of  civilisation,  as  person- 
ified by  the  reckless  French  Condemned  Corps  and 
the  Foreign  Legion  on  the  other.  Year  after  year 
military  expeditions  set  out  from  the  oasis  of  Biskra 
to  penetrate  the  wilderness,  either  by  caravan  route 
to  Timbuctoo  or  along  the  proposed  route  of  the 
Trans-Saharan  Railway  to  Lake  Tchad;  and  their 
lines  of  march  are  traced  in  red  upon  the  land. 

Toward  this  debatable  land  O'Rourke  set  his 
face  with  a  will,  gladly;  for  he  loved  it.  He  had 
fought  over  it  of  old;  in  his  memory  its  sands  were 
sanctified  with  the  blood  of  comrades,  men  by  whose 
side  he  had  been  proud  to  fight,  men  of  his  own 
stamp  whose  friendship  he  had  been  proud  to  own. 
Many  a  time  and  oft,  since  he  had  resigned  his 
commission  in  the  Foreign  Legion  to  become  a 
wanderer  in  strange  trails,  seeking  the  guerdon  of 
successful  adventure,  his  heart  had  turned  back  to 
the  desert  in  longing. 

83 


84  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

Now,  he  went  in  the  flesh  more  willingly  since  he 
scented  in  the  journey  a  spice  of  danger.  Behind 
him  Des  Trebes  and  Glynn  skulked,  shadowy  figures 
whose  capacity  for  mischief  he  could  not  yet  esti- 
mate, yet  whose  malign  purpose  bulked  self-evident 
to  his  understanding.  Before  him  the  desert  waited, 
alive  with  perils,  cloaked  with  mystery  beneath 
its  pitiless  sun-glare.  And,  somewhere  afar  in  the 
desert  Chambret  moved  and  had  his  being,  a  unit 
of  the  Legion,  a  component  part  of  a  punitive  ex- 
pedition only  recently  despatched  from  Biskra 
against  the  Touaregg,  bearing  with  him,  if  not  that 
priceless  jewel  itself,  at  least  the  secret  of  the  Pool 
of  Flame. 

Mentally  serene,  then,  if  physically  the  reverse  of 
comfortable,  O'Rourke  dozed  through  the  intermin- 
able twelve  hours  of  the  journey  to  El-Guerrah; 
arriving  at  which  place  after  eight  the  following 
morning,  he  transferred  himself  and  his  hand-bags 
(for  now  he  was  indeed  travelling  light)  to  the  con- 
necting train  on  the  Biskra  branch.  The  latter, 
scheduled  to  reach  the  oasis  at  four-thirty  in  the 
afternoon,  loafed  casually  up  the  line,  arriving  at 
the  terminus  after  dark. 

The  Irishman,  thoroughly  fagged  but  complacent 
in  the  knowledge  that  he  had  left  both  vicomte  and 
honourable  a  day  behind  him,  kept  himself  from 
bed  by  main  will-power  for  half  the  night,  while 
he  made  the  rounds  of  cafes  and  dance-halls,  in 


CHAPTER   SEVEN  85 

search  of  a  trustworthy  and  competent  guide — no 
easy  thing  to  find. 

The  French  force  by  then  was  three  days  out  from 
the  oasis,  and  no  doubt,  since  it  was  technically  a 
"  flying  column,"  calculated  to  move  briskly  from 
point  to  point  in  imitation  of  Touaregg  tactics, 
hourly  putting  a  greater  distance  between  itself  and 
its  starting  point.  Moreover,  the  pursuit  contem- 
plated by  the  adventurer  was  one  attended  by  no  in- 
considerable perils.  If  the  Touaregg  were  indeed 
"  up,"  no  living  man  outside  their  number  might 
say  where  they  might  not  be  at  any  given  time, 
whether  before,  behind,  flanking,  or  five-hundred 
miles  distant  from  the  French  expedition.  And  a 
small  caravan  of  two  or  three  dromedaries  and  but 
two  men,  such  as  O'Rourke's  must  be,  could  offer  no 
resistance  to  an  attack  from  the  hereditary  lords 
of  the  land. 

Under  such  conditions  the  Arab  guides  to  be 
found  in  the  oasis  were  nothing  keen  to  risk  their 
lives ;  yet  before  midnight,  by  dint  of  indomitable 
persistence,  unflagging  good-nature  and  such  in- 
fluence as  he  could  bring  personally  to  bear  upon  the 
authorities,  O'Rourke  got  what  he  desired — a  com- 
petent guide  and  two  racing  camels,  or  mehera,  with 
a  pack  animal  that  would  serve  their  purpose. 

By  dawn  they  were  ready  to  start ;  and  so,  in  the 
level  rays  of  a  sun  that  seemed  a  dazzling  sphere  of 
intolerable  light,  poising  itself  on  the  eastern  rim 


86  THE   POOL   OF  FLAME 

of  the  world  as  if  undecided  whether  or  no  to  take 
up  its  flight  across  the  firmament,  the  little  caravan 
rocked  out  into  the  fastnesses  of  the  desert,  the 
Irishman  in  the  van  sitting  a  blooded  mehari  as  one 
to  the  wilderness  born. 

For  the  first  day  or  two — barring  untoward  de- 
velopments— he  would  need  no  guide;  the  caravan 
route  to  Timbuctoo  was  plain  and  broadly  beaten 
upon  the  face  of  the  earth — and  well  he  remembered 
it!  His  eyes  kindled  and  unconsciously  he  threw 
back  his  shoulders  and  drank  in  the  rare  dry  air,  as 
he  looked  about  and  grasped  the  sweep  and  vastness 
of  the  desert  and  felt  the  enchantment  of  it  penetrate 
his  senses.  He  who  has  known  the  desert  never  quite 
forgets  it;  the  lure  of  it  is  potent  even  after  many 
years,  and  men  return  to  it  from  ordered  ways  of 
life,  drawn  irresistibly  by  the  desire  for  it — the  long- 
ing for  the  heat,  the  keen  hot  atmosphere,  the 
silence  and  the  sense  of  space,  the  high  inscrutable 
skies.  .  .  . 

So  with  O'Rourke.  He  rode  on  mazed  in  memories, 
dreamily  content,  all  but  forgetful,  while  the  white 
days  sped  and  the  black  clear  nights  fell  and  fol- 
lowed swiftly  into  the  oblivion  of  the  beckoning 
West. 

On  the  seventh  night  they  bivouacked  hard  on  the 
heels  of  the  flying  column,  having  for  seven  days 
pursued  it  this  way  and  that,  zigzagging  into  the 
heart  of  the  parched  land,  getting  their  bearings 


CHAPTER    SEVEN  87 

and  their  news  of  the  column  from  other  wayfarers 
of  the  caravan  routes,  whom  they  raised  and  hailed 
as  ships  raise  one  another  and  exchange  greetings  in 
far  desolate  seas. 

Now,  when  they  were  come  within  six  hours  of 
their  goal,  reluctantly,  long  after  nightfall, 
O'Rourke  gave  consent  to  halt,  conceding  the 
necessity;  for  weariness  weighed  upon  their  shoul- 
ders a  great  burden,  and  the  camels  had  become  un- 
usually sullen  and  evil-tempered;  if  rest  were  denied 
them  presently  they  would  become  obstinate  and  re- 
fuse the  road. 

They  paused,  then,  in  the  centre  of  a  vast  level 
place  filled  utterly  with  darkness  as  a  cup  is  filled 
with  water,  fell  rather  than  alighted  from  their  over- 
driven beats,  ate  a  scanty  meal  cooked  over  a 
wretched  fire  of  dry  camel-dung,  and  rolled  them- 
selves in  blankets  for  a  four-hour  sleep.  There  would 
be  a  moon  in  the  early  morning  hours,  and  with  its 
coming  they  were  to  rise  again  and  push  their  jour- 
ney to  its  end. 

O'Rourke  closed  his  eyes  and  lost  consciousness 
with  a  sensation  of  falling  headlong  into  a  great 
pit  of  oblivion,  bottomless,  eternal.  Yet  it  seemed 
no  more  than  a  moment  ere  he  was  sitting  up  and 
rubbing  sight  into  his  eyes,  shaken  out  of  slumber 
by  his  guide. 

He  stumbled  to  his  feet  and  lurched  toward  the 
camels,  still  but  half  awake.  When  his  senses  cleared 


88  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

irritation  possessed  him.  His  guide  had  been  over- 
zealous.  He  turned  upon  the  man  and  seized  him 
roughly  by  the  arm. 

"  What  the  divvle !  "  he  grumbled  angrily,  between 
a  yawn  and  a  chatter  of  teeth — for  the  air  was  bitter 
cold.  "  The  moon's  not  yet  up !  " 

"  Hush,  Sidi !  "  Something  in  the  guide's  tone 
stilled  his  wrath.  "  The  Touaregg  are  all  about 
us.  They  have  been  passing  us  throughout  the 
night " 

"  How  did  ye  know?  " 

"I  have  not  slept,  Sidi,"  said  the  man  quietly; 
66 1  had  feared  this.  The  moon  will  be  up  in  half  an 
hour;  with  that  grace  and  in  this  darkness  we  may 
slip  away." 

"  Ye  knew  this  and  did  not  wake  me  ?  " 

"  There  was  no  need ;  we  could  ,not  have  moved 
ere  this  without  detection.  Now,  they  are  all  a-stir, 
and  we  in  the  night,  may  pass  for  them — until 
moon-up." 

The  guide  turned  away  to  rouse  the  mehara,  prod- 
ding them  up,  mutinous,  snarling  and  ugly.  In 
another  five  minutes  they  were  again  moving  for- 
ward, O'Rourke  riding  close  beside  his  guide; 
otherwise  he  ran  the  risk  of  losing  the  man  in  that 
black  hour.  They  proceeded  at  a  maddening  slow 
pace,  the  dromedaries  pitching  and  rolling,  grumb- 
ling and  trying  to  bite  the  legs  of  their  riders.  It 
seemed  hours  rather  than  minutes  before  the  east 


CHAPTER    SEVEN  89 

glowed  pallid  behind  the  wave-like  line  of  the  horizon. 
The  Arab  bent  forward,  urging  his  camel  to  speed; 
his  employer  did  likewise.  Presently,  the  light 
growing  brighter,  both  abandoned  the  ways  of 
stealth  and  gentleness  and  openly  lashed  the  ani- 
mals. By  the  time  the  silver  rim  of  the  moon  peered 
over  the  edge  of  the  east  they  were  pelting  on  at  full 
speed,  as  yet,  apparently,  undetected  by  the  Tou- 
aregg. 

An  hour  passed,  and  the  chill  in  the  air  became 
more  intense;  dawn  was  at  hand.  A  sense  of  se- 
curity, of  dangers  left  behind,  came  to  the  Irishman ; 
he  began  to  breathe  more  freely,  though  still  the  pol- 
ished butt  of  a  repeating  rifle  swinging  from  the 
saddle  remained  a  comfort  to  his  palm.  He  grew 
more  confident,  mentally  at  ease,  seeing  the  desert 
take  shape  in  the  moonlight  and  show  itself  desolate 
on  every  hand. 

Even  as  he  gained  assurance  from  this  thought, 
the  guide  turned  in  his  saddle  and  cried  a  warn- 
ing :  "  The  Touaregg ! "  From  that  moment  on 
both  wielded  merciless  whips ;  the  mehara  sagged 
lower  to  the  earth,  racked  over  it  more  swiftly  than 
ever,  long  necks  stretched  at  length.  The  pack 
camel  dropped  to  the  rear,  unheeded.  For  out 
of  the  moonlit  wastes  behind  them  had  shrilled  a 
voice,  cruel  and  wild,  announcing  discovery  and  the 
inception  of  the  chase.  The  fugitives  had  need  of 
no  sharper  spur. 


90  THE   POOL   OF   FLAME 

A  rifle  shot  rang  sharp  on  the  echoes  of  that  cry, 
but  the  bullet  must  have  fallen  far  short.  And 
when  O'Rourke  found  occasion  to  glance  over  his 
shoulder,  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  desert  teemed 
with  pursuing,  phantom  Touaregg,  unreal  and  un- 
substantial-seeming in  the  illusion  of  the  light. 

But  they  were  far  behind,  and  he  took  heart  of 
this — heart  that  he  lost  the  next  moment,  remember- 
ing that  his  camels  were  over-worked,  while  those  of 
the  pursuers  would  undoubtedly  prove  fresh  and  un- 
wearied. Nor  was  there  anything  he  could  do  save 
maintain  the  pace,  flee  on  into  the  unknown  and 
brave  its  hidden  perils  in  preference  to  the  naked 
death  that  rode  behind. 

The  minutes  dragged.  When  he  looked  again  he 
fancied  that  the  pursuit  had  drawn  perceptibly 
nearer.  For  a  time  he  contemplated  the  advisa- 
bility of  halting,  dimounting,  forcing  the  mehara  to 
kneel,  and  with  their  bodies  as  a  shield  attempting 
to  stand  death  off  for  a  little  time  with  the  rifles. 
He  relinquished  the  project  with  some  regret.  It 
was  a  man's  death  at  worst,  if  suicidal. 

He  looked  again.  This  time  he  could  not  doubt 
that  the  Touaregg  had  lessened  the  distance.  A 
moment  later,  indeed,  they  opened  a  brisk,  scatter- 
ing fire — naturally  ineffectual,  though  the  bullets 
dropping  right  and  left  in  the  sand  proved  that  the 
chase  had  got  within  range. 

Even  with  that  warning,  the  end  was  nearer  than 


CHAPTER    SEVEN  91 

he  had  dreamed  or  hoped.  It  came  in  a  twinkling 
and  as  unexpectedly  as  a  bolt  out  of  a  clear  sky:  a 
flash  of  fire  ahead,  a  spiteful  snap  and — pttt! — 
the  song  of  a  bullet  speeding  past  his  head. 

The  guide  pulled  up  with  a  jerk.  O'Rourke,  rein- 
ing in  desperately,  swung  his  camel  wide  to  avert  the 
threatened  collision.  Simultaneously  the  sharp 
"  Qui  vive?  "  of  a  French  sentry  rang  out,  loud  and 
sweet  to  hear. 

"  Thank  God ! "  said  the  adventurer  in  his  heart. 
And  aloud,  "  Friends ! "  he  cried,  driving  past  the 
sentry  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

By  a  blessed  miracle  the  man  was  quick  of  wit,  and 
swift  to  grasp  the  situation — of  which,  however,  he 
must  have  had  some  warning  from  the  rattle  of  fir- 
ings He  screamed  something  in  O'Rourke's  ear  as 
the  latter  passed,  and  turning  threw  himself  flat 
and  began  to  pump  the  trigger  of  his  carbine,  emp- 
tying the  magazine  at  the  on-sweeping  line  of  Tou- 
aregg. 

The  alarm  was  hardly  needed;  O'Rourke  and  the 
guide  swept  on  over  the  lip  of  a  depression  in  the 
desert  and  halted  in  the  midst  of  a  camp  already 
quickened  and  alive  with  shadowy  figures  running 
methodically  to  their  posts,  carbines  and  accoutre- 
ments gleaming  in  the  moonlight:  men  of  the  camel 
corps,  hardened  to  and  familiar  with  their  work. 
They  buckled  down  to  it  in  a  business-like  way  that 
thrilled  the  heart  of  O'Rourke.  In  a  trice  they  were 


$2  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

•doubling  out  past  lines  of  tethered  mehara,  past  the 
white  hillocks  of  the  officers'  shelter-tents  and,  like 
the  sentry,  throwing  themselves  down  upon  the 
ground  to  take  shelter  of  whatever  inequalities  the 
face  of  the  desert  offered ;  and  their  firing  ringed  the 
bivouac  with  a  fringe  of  flame. 

O'Rourke  slipped  from  his  camel  and  turned  to 
watch  the  skirmish. 

Massed,  the  Touaregg,  in  strength  greater  than 
the  adventurer  had  believed — something  like  two 
hundred  mounted  men,  in  all — charged  down  upon 
the  camp  as  if  to  over-run  and  stampede  it.  A  gal- 
lant show,  horses  and  camels  ventre-a-terre,  rifles 
spitting,  burnooses  streaming  transparent  and  arms 
glittering  in  the  blue  unearthly  light,  they  came 
in  a  mad  rush,  with  an  impetus  so  great  as  to  seem 
irresistible. 

Yet  at  the  critical  moment,  when  it  seemed  that  of 
a,  surety  there  was  no  stopping  them,  they  divided 
and  swung  round  the  camp  in  two  wide  circles,  scat- 
tering into  open  order  and  firing  as  they  scattered. 
Here  and  there  a  horse  fell,  a  rider  threw  out  his 
hands  and  toppled  from  his  saddle,  a  camel  seemed 
to  buckle  at  full  tilt  like  a  faulty  piece  of  machinery ; 
and  so  gaps  appeared  in  the  flying  wings. 

For  the  men  of  the  flying  column  were  picked 
shots.  They  had  need  to  be,  who  had  such  tasks  as 
this  to  cope  with. 

Nor — for  that  matter — were  the  Touaregg   the 


CHAPTER    SEVEN  9S 

only  sufferers.  Here  and  there  in  the  camp  a  man 
plunged  forward  in  mid-stride,  and  on  the  firing  line 
beyond  the  tents  now  and  again  a  sharpshooter 
shuddered  and  lay  still  upon  his  arms.  Even  at 
O'Rourke's  side  an  officer  was  shot  as  he  ran  to  the 
front,  and  would  have  fallen  had  not  the  Irishman 
caught  him  with  ready  arms  and  let  him  easily  to 
the  earth.  As  he  did  so  the  stricken  man  rolled  an 
agonised  eye  upward. 

"  O'Rourke !  "  he  said  between  a  groan  and  a  sigh. 

And  O'Rourke,  kneeling  at  his  side  and  peering- 
into  his  face,  gave  a  bitter  cry.  For  he  had  found 
Chambret. 


CHAPTER 
EIGHT 

PEEPAEATIONS  for  breakfast  were  toward;  an  aroma 
of  coffee  and  bacon  hung  in  the  still,  crisp  air.  The 
troopers  were  bustling  about  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened, laughing  and  joking,  cleaning  rifles,  feed- 
ing the  mehara,  striking  tents,  drawing  water  from 
the  palm-ringed  well  round  which  the  camp  had  been 
made. 

Out  of  sight  beyond  the  edge  of  the  sunken  oasis 
a  detachment  was  digging  shallow  trenches  for  the 
dead,  the  thud  and  scrape  of  their  spades  a  sinister 
under-note  to  the  chatter  of  those  who  had  been 
spared  and  were  whole.  Dull  and  continuous,  the 
sound  struck  upon  the  ear  singularly  like  the  tolling 
of  a  knell. 

A  glory  of  crimson  and  gold  shimmered  in  the 
eastern  vault  of  the  skies ;  in  the  west  the  grey  and 
purple  shades  were  rolling  away  almost  visibly  across 
the  face  of  the  desert;  dawn  was  imminent. 

In  the  open  Chambret  lay  dying,  a  stark  grim  fig- 
ure in  the  growing  light.  O'Rourke  sat  by  his  side, 
near  the  head  of  the  improvised  litter,  elbow  on  knee, 
chin  in  hand,  eyes  fixed  on  the  face  of  his  friend. 

94 


CHAPTER   EIGHT  95 

To  his  saddened  vision,  the  man's  features  seemed 
curiously  pinched  and  shrunken,  but  little  indicative 
of  the  strength  and  comeliness  that  once  had  been 
his.  A  strong,  dark  man  he  figured  in  O'Rourke's 
memory,  alert  and  ready,  a  friend  to  cherish,  stead- 
fast and  loyal. 

Now  ...  It  was  hard  to  see  him  as  he  was. 
There  were  deep  hollows  beneath  the  closed  eyes, 
and  the  lean,  brown  cheeks  had  fallen  in  pitifully; 
the  stern  lines  of  suffering  about  the  mouth  and 
chin  and  the  cold,  beaded  sweat  on  the  man's  brow 
and  temples  wrung  the  heart  of  the  adventurer, 
though  he  had  seen  many  men  die — many  of  whom 
he  had  cared  for  more  than  a  little. 

Perhaps,  however,  he  was  now  more  intensely 
moved  because  this  man  Chambret,  whose  passing 
he  was  watching,  a  solitary  mourner,  had  been  more 
to  him  than  a  friend,  more  than  an  enemy.  .  .  . 
Inevitably  he  recalled  the  unnumbered  incidents  and 
episodes  which  went  to  prove  how  strangely  inter- 
woven had  been  the  threads  of  their  individual  des- 
tinies. Chambret  it  was  through  whom  he  had  first 
met  Beatrix,  Princesse  de  Grandlieu,  Chambret  whom 
first  he  had  been  forced  to  recognise  as  his  most  for- 
midable rival  for  her  affection;  his  first  duel  had 
been  fought  with  Chambret — his  second  also;  with 
Chambret  by  his  side  he  had  fought  the  fights  that 
stood  out  most  prominently  in  his  memory ;  he  had 
saved  his  life,  been  saved  through  his  intervention; 


96  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

they  had  served  one  another  in  many  a  various  way. 
Even  when  he  had  married  the  woman  Chambret 
loved,  Chambret  had  stood  by  his  side.  The  strength 
of  their  friendship  had  prevailed  against  even  that 
ordeal.  .  .  .  And  now  the  man  lay  dying,  dying 
needlessly,  a  virtual  suicide  who  to  forget  his  love 
for  the  woman  O'Rourke  had  married  had  courted 
death  by  enlisting  as  a  soldier  of  France's  Foreign 
Legion  in  the  Soudan :  that  graveyard  of  many  an- 
other brilliant  career.  .  .  . 

Just  before  sunrise  the  man  on  the  litter  stirred, 
moaned,  opened  his  eyes  and  turned  his  head  to  see 
O'Rourke.  He  smiled  wanly.  '*  Mon  ami,"  he  said 
in  tones  faint  yet  thick. 

The  Irishman  rose.  "  Don't  talk,"  said  he.  "  I'll 
be  calling  the  surgeon." 

But  Chambret  stayed  him  with  a  gesture.  "  Has 
he  not  told  you,  dear  friend?  "  he  asked. 

O'Rourke  hesitated.     "Told  me  what?" 

"  That  my  wound  was  fatal — mortal?  .  .  . 
Surely  he  must  have  told  you.  It  is  so.  Presently  I 
die  .  .  .  content.  .  .  .  Let  him  be — this 
surgeon:  I  am  beyond  his  aid.  Attend  to  me,  in 
my  last  moments,  O'Rourke,  my  friend." 

The  adventurer  vacillated,  torn  by  an  agony  of 
compassion.  "  I  must  do  something  for  ye,"  he  said 
miserably.  ..."  I  must  do  something.  .  .  . 
What  can  I  do?" 

"  Comfort  me."     The  dying  man  closed  his  eyes 


CHAPTER    EIGHT  97 

and  lay  still  for  a  little.  "  You  are  not  gone, 
O'Rourke?"  he  asked  presently. 

"  I'm  here,  be  your  side,  mon  ami." 

"  Tell  me  ...  of  madame  .  .  .  your  wife. 
She  is  well?" 

"  She  is  very  well,  Chambret." 

"  You  have  seen  her  recently  ?  " 

"  Within  ten  days." 

"  You  have    .     .     .     returned  to  her  ?  " 

"  No — and  yes.  'Twas  not  for  lack  of  love  for 
her  that  I  gave  her  up " 

"  Yes,"  said  Chambret  impatiently.  "  That  I  un- 
derstand. ...  I  comprehend  utterly  your  feel- 
ing. .  .  .  But  you  owe  her  happiness,  though  you 
sacrifice  your  own — everything — to  give  it  her.  She 
loves  you  ...  as  she  might  have  loved  even 
me,  had  you  not  come  into  her  life." 

"True.     .     .     ." 

"  You  are  about  to  pocket  your  scruples  that  she 
may  have  her  due  portion  of  happiness?  " 

"  I've  promised,  Chambret." 

"  I  am  glad." 

The  wounded  man  panted  heavily  for  a  moment, 
then  lay  very  still.  It  seemed  a  long  time  before  he 
spoke  again. 

"O'Rourke.     .     .     ." 

"Dear  friend.     .     .     ," 

"  It's  true,  then.  .  .  .  I'd  wondered.  .  .  . 
For  a  little  I  thought  myself  dreaming  you  were  by 


98  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

my  side  in  this  hour.  .  .  .  O'Rourke — I've  not 
long  to  live  now — your  hand." 

His  strong  fingers  closed  greedily  upon  the  Irish- 
man's. 

"  She  is  well,  happy  ...  I  am  glad.  .  .  . 
Do  you  speak  of  me  together?" 

"  Very  often." 

"  But  she  doesn't  know.  .  .  .  That  is  best. 
.  I  should  sleep  uneasy  with  the  burden  of 
the  thought  that  she  knew  why  .  .  .  why  death 
found  me  in  this  spot,  this  land  of  devils." 

"  I  think  she  doesn't  even  dream " 

"  So  much  the  better.  .  .  .  But  you — what 
has  brought  you  hither?  " 

"  I — I  wished  to  see  ye." 

But  the  dying  are  oftentimes  and  strangely  en- 
dowed with  curious  insight  into  matters  beyond  their 
ken.  Without  perceptible  hesitation  Chambret  made 
this  apparent. 

"  You  have  come  for  the  ruby,"  he  said  with  con- 
viction. 

"  How  did  ye  know?  " 

"  It  is  true,  then  ?  .  .  .  I  fancied  so ;  I  knew 
that  some  day  you  would  come  to  claim  it.  You  re- 
call telling  me  the  story  of  the  stone?  I  have  not 
forgotten.  ...  So  I  have  kept  it  all  prepared 
for  you  to  claim.  Not  only  have  I  designated  it  your 
property  in  my  will,  but  .  .  .  perhaps  foreseeing 
this  thing  that  has  happened,  I  have  placed  it  in  a 


CHAPTER   EIGHT  99 

safe  hand  to  be  delivered  to  you  alone  upon  re- 
quest." 

The  voice  dropped  until  it  was  no  more  than  a 
feeble  whisper  and  the  strong  dark  hands  began  to 
twitch  spasmodically — one  tightening  cruelly  about 
O'Rourke's.  The  Irishman  seemed  to  see  death's 
hallmark  stamped  plain  upon  the  face  of  his  friend. 

"  Chambret,"  he  said  huskily. 

"  Let  me  finish.    I  have  but  little  time  left  to  me. 

This  skirmish  must  have  happened  earlier 

than  I  had  thought ;  for  it  is  still  dark,  my  friend ;  I 

cannot  see  your  face.     .     .     .     What  is  the  hour  ?  " 

"  'Tis  hard  upon  the  dawn.     .     .      ." 

"  It  is  sunset  for  me.  By  daylight  I  shall  be 
.  .  .  No  matter.  Listen  to  me,  O'Rourke." 

"  I'm  here,  Chambret." 

"  Is  there  anyone  besides  yourself  to  hear?  " 

"None.     .     .     ." 

"  Bend  nearer  to  me.  .  .  .  The  Pool  of  Flame 
is  in  the  keeping  of  my  good  friend,  the  Governor- 
General  of  Algeria.  It  is  all  arranged.  When  I 
am  gone,  take  my  signet  ring,  tell  him  your  name,  and 
demand  the  package — a  small  morocco-leather  box, 
wrapped  in  plain  brown  paper  and  superscribed  with 
my  name  and  yours.  He  knows  nothing  of  its  value, 
save  that  it  is  great,  and  will  deliver  it  to  you  and 
only  you  without  question.  .  .  .  That  is  all." 

The  hand  that  clasped  O'Rourke's  was  like 
ice. 


100  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

"  Chambret ! " 

"Beatrix.     .     .     ." 

The  cold  fingers  relaxed.  Gently  O'Rourke  dis- 
engaged his  hand  and  put  it  to  the  pitiful,  torn 
bosom  of  the  man  who  had  died  with  his  wife's  name 
upon  his  lips. 

There  was  no  motion,  not  a  flutter  of  breath  nor 
a  throb  of  the  heart,  in  Chambret's  body. 

O'Rourke  rose  and  stood  above  the  litter,  with 
sorrowing  eyes  staring  blankly  out  across  the  empty, 
barren,  desert  waste. 

With  a  bound  the  sun  cleared  the  horizon,  and  an- 
other day  crashed  across  the  firmament. 


CHAPTER 

NINE 

SHORTLY  before  midnight  the  tri-weekly  train  from 
Constantine  to  Algiers  pulled  up  over  an  hour  late 
at  the  town  of  El-Guerrah.  It  took  up  a  single  pas- 
senger, discharged  none,  and  presently  thundered  on 
westwards,  rocking  and  jarring  over  a  road-bed  cer- 
tainly no  better  than  it  should  have  been.  Such, 
at  least,  was  the  passenger's  criticism,  as,  groaning 
in  anticipation  of  the  long  night  of  discomfort  ahead 
of  him,  he  disposed  himself  and  his  belongings  about 
the  cushions  of  the  first-class  compartment  which  he 
occupied  in  solitary  grandeur. 

O'Rourke  had  no  intention  of  leaving  anything 
undone  that  might  tend  to  mitigate  the  terrors  of 
the  journey.  Removing  his  coat,  he  rolled  and 
pounded  it  into  a  passable  pillow,  which  he  placed 
at  one  end  of  the  rear  seat.  Then,  opening  his  hand- 
bag, he  exchanged  shoes  for  worn  slippers,  produced 
a  flask,  a  pipe,  a  fat  tobacco-pouch  and  matches, 
and,  stretching  himself  at  length  upon  the  cushions, 
commended  his  soul  to  fortitude  and  his  mind  to 
thought. 

Five  days  had  elapsed  since  that  morning  in  the 
oasis.  In  the  interval  he  had  again  dared  the  dan- 

101 


102  THE   POOL   OF   FLAME 

gers  of  the  desert,  returning  to  Biskra  alone  by  a 
route  more  direct  than  that  which  had  brought  him 
up  with  the  flying  column.  Discharging  the  guide 
with  a  gratuity  larger  than  his  ebbing  means  war- 
ranted, he  had  proceeded  to  El-Guerrah  by  the  first 
daily  train,  and  so  now  found  himself  on  the  direct 
line  of  communication  with  Algiers  and  the  Governor- 
General. 

He  was  weary,  fagged  by  the  unmitigated  strain 
of  the  desert  sortie,  but  mentally  fairly  content. 
The  five  days  lapsed  had  taken  the  keen  edge  off  his 
mourning;  O'Rourke  had  seen  too  much  of  death  in 
battle  to  remain  for  long  forcibly  impressed  by  it, 
even  when  it  touched  him  so  nearly  as  now.  The  sad 
memory  of  Chambret  he  served  as  he  served  habitu- 
ally all  irreparable  matters,  thrusting  it  into  the 
storehouse  of  his  reminiscences,  out  of  his  immediate 
thoughts.  His  chiefest  concern  now  lay  with  the 
future  and  the  Pool  of  Flame;  both  bulked  large 
upon  the  horizon  and  were  at  once  the  architects 
and  the  nuclei  of  a  thousand  different  plans  of 
action. 

So  far,  the  affair  had  worked  smoothly ;  he  antici- 
pated little  trouble.  Des  Trebes  and  the  Honour- 
able Mr.  Glynn  he  disregarded  entirely,  eliminating 
them  as  real  factors  in  his  schemes.  He  had  seen 
nothing  of  either  at  Biskra,  and  very  naturally  held 
that  they  having  failed  to  intercept  him  before  he 
could  reach  Chambret,  had  abandoned  their  conspir- 


CHAPTER   NINE  103 

acy,  or,  at  worst,  turned  their  attention  from  him- 
self to  the  man  of  whose  death  they  remained  in 
ignorance. 

It  was  now  become  the  Irishman's  part  to  return 
to  Algiers  as  inconspicuously  as  possible,  secure 
an  interview  with  the  Governor-General,  and  take 
leave  of  the  land  at  the  earliest  practicable  moment. 

So  thinking  he  drowsed,  and  in  the  course  of  time 
lulled  by  the  hammering  of  a  flat-wheel  at  the  for- 
ward end  of  the  coach,  fell  asleep.  In  common  with 
most  men  who  are  hardened  to  the  open,  he  had  the 
happy  faculty  of  sleeping  when  and  where  he  would, 
of  obtaining  the  greatest  possible  amount  of  rest 
under  the  least  favourable  auspices.  By  habit,  like- 
wise, he  slept  lightly  and  could  awaken  himself  at 
any  given  hour,  by  prearrangement  with  his  sub- 
consciousness.  But  this  night  he  wakened  suddenly 
and  without  design  after  a  nap  of  some  two  hours 
or  so,  to  a  confusion  of  impressions :  that  the  train 
had  stopped;  that  someone  had  invaded  his  com- 
partment; that  a  cold  blast  was  blowing  across  his 
wrists.  Bewildered  and  not  half  master  of  his  senses, 
he  started  up  and  fell  back  with  a  thud,  assisted  to 
resume  a  recumbent  position  by  a  heavy  blow  upon 
his  chest,  delivered  by  some  person  for  the  moment 
unknown.  Simultaneously  he  was  aware  of  a  click- 
ing sound,  followed  by  the  sensation  of  being  unable 
to  move  his  feet ;  and  then,  the  clouds  clearing  from 
his  understanding,  he  realised  that  the  cold  upon  his 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

wrists  was  that  of  steel.  With  handcuffs  also  on 
his  ankles,  he  lay  helpless,  unable  even  to  protest 
because  of  a  cloth  wadded  tightly  into  his  mouth 
and  a  firm  hand  that  prevented  its  ejection. 

Other  hands  were  rifling  his  pockets,  swiftly  but 
after  a  bungling  fashion.  The  train,  having  paused 
briefly  at  Setif  (he  afterwards  located  the  station  by 
conjecture),  began  to  move  again,  was  presently  in 
full  thundering  flight.  Abruptly  the  examination 
of  his  person — which  was  so  thorough  that  it  in- 
cluded the  opening  of  his  shirt  to  assure  the  thieves 
that  he  carried  nothing  in  the  shape  of  a  money- 
belt — was  concluded  and  the  adventurer  was  roughly 
jerked  into  a  sitting  position.  At  the  same  time  his 
gag  was  removed. 

He  gasped,  blinked,  coughed,  and  rolled  a  resent- 
ful eye  around  the  compartment.  "  Be  the  powers !  " 
he  said  huskily;  and  no  more.  At  first  glance  it 
became  apparent  that  he  had  miscalculated  the  au- 
dacity and  resource  of  the  vicomte  and  Mr.  Glynn. 
They  had  literally  caught  him  napping. 

The  Honourable  Bertie,  O'Rourke  discovered  kneel- 
ing in  the  act  of  turning  the  adventurer's  travelling 
gear  inside  out ;  at  least,  he  seemed  to  be  trying  to 
do  so.  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  des  Trebes  on  the  con- 
trary was  seated  at  ease,  facing  O'Rourke,  a  revolver 
on  the  cushion  beside  him,  his  interest  concentrated, 
not  upon  his  captive,  but  upon  his  collaborator. 
O'Rourke  remarked  an  expression  on  the  French- 


CHAPTER   NINE  105 

man's  face,  a  curious  compound  of  eagerness,  tri- 
umph and  apprehension. 

Without  noting  the  Irishman's  ejaculation,  he  ad- 
dressed Glynn:  "Find  it?" 

"  No — worse  luck !  "  grumbled  the  Englishman, 
rising  and  kicking  the  hand-bag  savagely.  "  There 
isn't  so  much  as  a  scrap  of  paper  anywhere  about 
him." 

The  vicomte  favoured  O'Rourke  with  a  vicious 
glance,  muttering  something  about  a  thousand 
devils.  The  Irishman,  quick  to  grasp  the  situation 
and  inwardly  exulting,  acknowledged  Des  Trebes' 
attention  with  a  winning  smile. 

"  Good  evening,"  he  said,  and  nodded  amiably. 

"  Oh,  shut  up !  "  snapped  the  Honourable  Bertie, 
unhandsomely.  "  Where's  that  letter  ?  " 

O'Rourke  chuckled.  "  Ye're  a  hard  loser,  me 
bright  young  friend,"  he  commented.  "I  thought 
Englishmen  always  played  the  game  as  it  laid." 

Glynn  grunted  and  flushed,  shamefaced,  but  the 
Frenchman  cut  short  the  retort  on  his  lips  by  a  curt 
repetition  of  Glynn's  own  question: 

"Where's  that  letter,  monsieur?" 

O'Rourke  glanced  at  him  languidly,  yawned,  and 
smiled  an  exasperating,  strictly  personal  smile. 
Then  significantly  he  clinked  the  handcuffs  until 
they  rang  on  wrist  and  ankle. 

"  Answer  me ! "  snarled  the  vicomte,  picking  uj> 
his  revolver. 


106  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

"  Divvle  a  word,"  observed  O'Rourke,  "  will  ye  get 
from  me  if  ye  shoot  me  dead,  monsieur  le  vicomte. 
Put  down  your  pistol  and  be  sensible." 

Des  Trebes'  face  darkened,  suffused  with  the  blood 
of  his  rage.  Yet  the  man  asserted  that  admirable 
control  of  self  which  he  was  able  to  employ  when  it 
suited  his  purposes.  Evidently,  too,  he  recognised 
the  cold  common-sense  of  the  wanderer's  remark. 
At  all  events  he  put  aside  the  weapon. 

"Where's  the  letter?"  he  demanded  again,  more 
pacifically. 

Again  O'Rourke  yawned  with  malice  prepense, 
yawned  deliberately  and  exhaustively  and  dispas- 
sionately. "  Not  a  word,"  he  volunteered  at  length, 
"  until  ye  loose  me  hands  and  feet.  Which,"  he 
added,  "  ye  need  not  hesitate  to  do,  for  I'll  not  strike 
back — unless  ye  crowd  me." 

The  vicomte  scowled  darkly  for  a  moment,  plainly 
dubious.  Then  presumably  upon  the  consideration 
that  he  could  trust  O'Rourke's  word  and  that  most 
assuredly  he  would  learn  nothing  from  him  until  his 
request  was  complied  with,  he  growled  an  order  to 
Glynn  to  unlock  and  remove  the  handcuffs.  The 
Englishman  obeyed. 

Free,  O'Rourke  stretched  himself,  rubbed  his  wrists, 
and  observed  a  collection  of  his  pocket  hardware  ly- 
ing upon  the  seat  by  him,  thrown  aside  by  Glynn 
in  his  disgust  at  not  finding  what  he  sought. 

'*  Ye'll  not  be  wanting  to  deprive  me  of  these  few 


His  dominant  emotion  of  the  moment,  an  intense 
and  pitiful  solicitude  for  the  dying  man, 

threw  him  off  his  guard  "      (Page  250) 


CHAPTER    NINE  107 

trifles,  me  gay  highwaymen,  I'm  thinking?  "  he  in- 
quired placidly  of  the  pair.  "  If  ye've  no  objection 
I'll  make  so  free  as  to  take  back  me  own." 

"  Take  what  you  want,"  returned  Des  Trebes  in 
an  ugly  tone.  "  But — I  give  you  three  minutes  to 
tell  me  where  you  have  put  that  letter." 

"  Indeed  ?  Your  courtesy  overpowers  me."  The 
Irishman  took  up  his  watch  and  calmly  made  a  note 
of  the  hour — hard  upon  three  in  the  morning;  then, 
with  easy  nonchalance  stowed  it  away  with  the  rest 
of  the  miscellaneous  collection — the  knives,  coins 
and  keys,  his  wallet,  tickets  and  so  forth. 

"  Your  time,"  the  voice  of  the  vicomte  interrupted 
this  occupation,  "  is  up."  He  fingered  his  re- 
volver. "  Where  is  that  letter?  I  am  losing 
patience." 

"  Where  rust  nor  moth  cannot  corrupt  nor  thieves 
break  in  to  steal,"  O'Rourke  misquoted  solemnly. 
"  Steady.  Don't  call  names — or  I'll  forget  meself. 
I  mean  that  the  letter  is  in  fragments,  scattered  to 
the  four  winds  of  heaven,  destroyed.  There  ye  have 
your  answer.  Ye  fools,  did  ye  think  I  would  carry  it 
about  me?  " 

"By  God!"  said  Glynn  tensely.  "No — don't 
shoot  him,  Des  Trebes !  He's  telling  the  truth. 
Make  him  tell  what  was  in  the  letter." 

"  I  am  afraid  'tis  useless,"  O'Rourke  mocked  them. 
"  I  have  forgotten  the  contents.  What  use  to  me  to 
remember?  "  he  demanded,  inspired.  "  What  made 


108  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

ye  think  I  would  have  it  at  all?  Sure,  and  the  letter 
was  properly  Chambcet's.  Why  would  I  not  turn  it 
over  to  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  cut  it ! "  Glynn  interrupted  impatiently. 
"  We  know  he's  dead.  The  news  was  heliographed  in 
from  the  column  day  before  yesterday." 

"  Quite  so.  Yet,  if  ye  know  so  much,  if — as  I 
gather — ye  suspect  that  Chambret  turned  over  this 
precious  jewel  to  me,  why  do  ye  not  demand  it  as 
well  as  the  letter?  Not  that  I  have  either." 

"  Because  we  jolly  well  know  you  haven't  got  the 
ruby,"  blurted  the  Englishman. 

"  Be  quiet !  "  snapped  the  vicomte. 

"  Quite  right,"  echoed  O'Rourke  with  assumed  in- 
dignation. "  Be  silent,  Bertie.  Children  should  be 
seen  and  not  heard.  Mind  your  uncle."  And, 
"  Oho !  "  he  commented  to  himself.  "And  they  knew 
I  didn't  have  the  Pool  of  Flame!  Let  me  think. 
.  .  .  Oh,  faith,  'tis  just  bluffing  they  are!" 

"  You  say,"  the  vicomte  continued  slowly  and 
evenly,  "you've  destroyed  the  letter." 

O'Rourke  took  up  pipe  and  tobacco.  "  I  told  ye," 
he  replied,  filling  the  bowl,  "  that  the  letter  was  non- 
existent. Now,  me  man,"  he  continued,  with  an  im- 
perceptible change  of  tone,  "  drop  the  bluff.  Turn 
that  pistol  away  from  me.  Well  I  know  that  ye 
won't  shoot,  for  if  ye  did  ye  would  put  beyond  your 
reach  forever  the  information  that  would  win  ye  the 
reward — always  providing  ye  had  got  possession  of 


CHAPTER    NINE  109 

the  ruby,  be  hook  or  crook.  'Twould  be  crooks,  I'm 
thinking." 

He  lit  a  match  and  applied  the  flame  to  the  to- 
bacco. "  There's  me  last  word  on  the  subject,"  he 
added  indistinctly,  puffing  and  eyeing  the  pair 
through  the  cloud  of  smoke. 

The  revolver  wavered  in  the  vicomte's  hand;  he 
was  livid  with  passion  and  disappointment,  yet 
amenable  to  reason.  Glynn  bent  and  whispered 
briefly  in  his  ear,  and  the  Frenchman,  nodding  ac- 
quiescence, laid  aside  his  weapon.  The  Honourable 
Bertie  continued  to  advise  with  him  in  whispers  until 
O'Rourke,  though  quite  at  loss  to  understand  this 
phase  of  the  affair,  saw  that  their  attention  was  mo- 
mentarily diverted  and,  with  a  swift  movement,  leaned 
over,  snatched  up  the  revolver  and,  with  a  flirt  of 
his  hand,  flung  it  out  the  window. 

Glynn  started  back  with  an  oath,  his  hand  going 
toward  his  pocket;  but  O'Rourke  promptly  closed 
with  him.  A  breath  later  a  second  pistol  was 
ejected  from  the  carriage  and  the  Englishman 
was  sprawling  over  the  knees  of  the  vicomte. 

They  disengaged  themselves  and,  mad  with  rage, 
started  up  to  fall  upon  and  exterminate  the  wan- 
derer. I  think  it  must  have  been  the  very  imperti- 
nence of  his  attitude  that  made  them  pause  in  doubt, 
for  he  had  resumed  his  seat  as  calmly  as  though 
nothing  at  all  had  happened  and  was  pulling  soberly 
at  his  pipe.  As  they  hesitated  he  removed  the  latter 


110  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

from  his  lips  and  gestured  airily  with  the  stem. 
"  Sit  ye  down,"  he  invited  them,  "  and  take  it  easy, 
me  dear  friends.  The  michief's  done,  and  naught 
that  ye  can  do  will  repair  it.  Faith,  I  said  I'd  not 
strike  back  unless  ye  crowded  me.  I  remember  me 
words  to  the  letter.  Well,  your  guns  made  a  crowd 
out  of  this  happy  reunion.  I've  merely  dispensed 
with  them;  I  call  ye  both  to  witness  that  ye  have 
neither  of  ye  suffered.  Sure,  I'm  as  peaceable  as  any 
lamb.  Sit  down,  sit  ye  down  and  take  it  like  little 
men.  The  situation's  unchanged,  save  that  I've 
put  temptation  out  of  your  reach." 

And  as  they  wavered,  plainly  of  two  minds, 
O'Rourke  clinched  the  argument  of  his  attitude.  "  I 
beg  to  call  your  attention,"  he  remarked,  "  to  the 
fact  that  ye  have  left  me  own  brace  of  revolvers  here 
at  me  feet,  when  ye  so  joyously  turned  me  bag  inside 
out.  I'm  not  touching  them,  mind  ye,  but  mind  ye 
further:  I'll  brook  no  nonsense.  If  ye  make  a  move 
as  if  to  attack  me,  I'll  .  .  .  There!  That's 
much  better.  Wise  lads  ye  are,  both  of  ye :  graceful 
in  defeat.  Let  me  see:  We've  a  long  ride  together, 
though  ye  did  come  uninvited.  I  trust  ye  will  help 
me  beguile  the  tedium  with  society  chatter,  me 
friend,"  with  a  twinkle  at  the  discomfited  vicomte. 
"  I'm  in  danger  of  forgetting  me  manners.  Par- 
don me,  I  pray,  but — but  I  trust  your  nose  is  con- 
valescing? " 

In  high  feather  with  himself,  O'Rourke  entertained 


CHAPTER    NINE  111 

his  companions  with  a  running  fire  of  pleasantries 
for  the  balance  of  the  darkened  hours.  And  he 
touched  both  more  than  once  with  the  rapier-point  of 
his  wit  and  irony,  and  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
both  squirm  in  impotent  rage.  They  cut  wretched 
figures,  two  against  one,  yet  failures,  while  he  taunted 
them  in  one  breath,  with  the  next  declared  himself 
their  captive.  Toward  the  end  the  reserve  which  the 
vicomte  imposed  upon  the  Honourable  Bertie  was 
worn  down:  the  Englishman  turned  with  raw  nerves 
upon  his  tormentor. 

"  You  damned  ass ! "  he  stammered,  all  but  in- 
coherent. "  You  sit  there  and — and  gloat,  damn  you ! 
When  all  the  time  we've  got  the  upper  hand ! " 

"  Be  quiet !  "  interposed  the  vicomte. 

"  I  won't ! "  raged  the  honourable.  "  He  thinks 
himself  so  infernally  clever!  What  'dyou  say,  you 
Irish  braggart,  if  I  told  you  you'd  never  see  the  Pool 
of  Flame  again?  " 

"  I'd  say,"  returned  O'Rourke,  "  that  you  were 
either  lying  or  a  fool.  In  either  case  a  fool.  If,  as 
ye  seem  to  be  trying  to  make  me  believe — which  I 
don't  for  one  instant — ye  have  succeeded  in  steal- 
ing the  Pool  of  Flame,  I'll  hunt  the  pair  of  ye  to 
the  ends  of  the  earth,  if  need  be." 

He  eyed  them  reflectively  during  a  moment  or  two 
made  interesting  by  Glynn's  desperate  attempts  to 
blurt  out  indiscretions  against  the  prohibition  of 
the  vicomte :  something  which  the  older  man  enforced 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

crudely  by  clapping  his  hand  across  the  English- 
man's mouth,  as  well  as  by  whispering  savagely  in 
his  ear. 

"  But  there'll  be  no  need,"  continued  the  Irishman, 
when  Glynn  was  calm.  "  Let's  consider  the  mat- 
ter dispassionately,  presupposing  that  ye  have 
the  stone.  Well,  what  then?  Ye  dare  not  attempt 
to  sell  it — 'twould  result  in  instant  detection.  It 
would  not  pay  ye  to  have  it  secretly  cut  up 
into  smaller  stones — the  loss  in  value  would  be  stu- 
pendous, the  whole  not  worth  your  while,  as  I  say. 
Ye  cannot  take  the  Pool  of  Flame  (don't  get  excited: 
I'm  not  going  to  tell  ye  where)  to  claim  the  reward, 
for  ye  don't  know  where  to  go.  'Tis  a  white  elephant 
it  would  be  on  your  hands." 

"  It  does  not  seem  to  strike  monsieur  that  there 
are  other  ways  of  finding  out  who  offers  the  re- 
ward," the  vicomte  suggested  icily. 

"I  can  see  ye  wandering  around  asking  some- 
body please  to  relieve  ye  of  the  Pool  of  Flame 
and  pay  ye  a  commission.  I  wonder  how  long  ye 
think  ye'd  last.  But  'tis  no  use  trying  to  hoodwink 
me:  I  don't  believe  one  word  ye  say.  I'll  wait  until 
I  find  out  the  truth  before  I  bother  meself  with  ye." 

There  fell  a  silence  then,  O'Rourke  wrapped  in 
thought  if  watchful,  the  Honourable  Bertie  sulky, 
Des  Trebes  imperturbable.  Shortly  afterwards  the 
train  stopped  at  Beni-Mancour,  and  here  the  two 
offered  to  leave.  O'Rourke  interposed  no  objection: 


CHAPTER    NINE 

he  was  glad  enough  to  be  rid  of  them,  to  have  a 
chance  to  sit  and  smoke  and  think  it  out. 

Their  persistence  in  hinting  that  they  had  gained 
possession  of  the  ruby  perplexed  and  discomfited 
him.  He  did  not  believe  it;  'twas  inconceiv- 
able :  yet — he  had  known  stranger  things  to  happen. 
Still,  without  a  clue,  to  have  stumbled  upon  the 
secret,  to  have  made  off  with  it  from  under  the  very 

nose  of  the  Governor-General !  No ;  it  was  not 

reasonable  to  ask  him  to  believe  all  that. 

Nevertheless,  when  he  arrived  at  Algiers,  his  anx- 
iety had  grown  so  overpowering  that,  waiting  only 
to  assure  himself  that  at  Beni-Mancour  Des  Trebes 
and  Glynn  had  merely  moved  to  the  compartment  be- 
hind, he  called  a  cab  and  desired  to  be  conveyed  post- 
haste to  the  Place  de  la  Government. 


CHAPTER 
TEN 

IT  was  high  noon  when  O'Rourke  drove  up  before  the 
Palace  of  the  Governor-General.  Weary,  dusty  and 
travel-stained  as  he  was,  he  hesitated  no  instant 
about  sending  in  his  name  and  requesting  an  inter- 
view with  the  representative  of  France's  sovereign 
power. 

Disappointment  awaited  him  at  the  very  outset: 
disappointment  in  the  shape  of  word  that  his  excel- 
lency was  away.  But  the  name  of  O'Rourke  was  one 
well  and  favourably  known  in  the  province,  and  se- 
cured him  an  invitation  to  ascend  to  the  Governor's 
office  and  state  his  business — if  he  cared  to  do  so — 
to  the  gubernatorial  secretary. 

Upon  consideration  he  accepted,  and  a  little  later 
was  seated  in  a  broad,  low,  cool  room  in  the  old 
Moorish  palace,  the  affable  secretary — a  young, 
lively  and  engaging  Frenchman — solicitously  sound- 
ing him  as  to  his  errand. 

It  was  obviously  the  office  of  a  man  of  great  af- 
fairs, presenting  an  eminently  business-like  look  for 
all  its  Oriental  setting.  To  one  side,  set  in  the  solid 
masonry  of  the  wall,  was  a  massive  safe  with  doors 
ajar,  exposing  a  cavity  well  stocked  with  documents. 

114 


CHAPTER   TEN  115 

It  occurred  to  the,adventurer  that  such  a  safe  might 
easily  have  been  the  place  of  security  selected  by  the 
Governor-General  for  anything  he  held  in  trust.  He 
built  upon  it  a  theory  whilst  he  listened — nor  lost 
a  point — and  replied  to  the  secretary. 

The  latter  regretted  excessively  that  his  excel- 
lency was  absent:  his  excellency  would  undoubtedly 
be  desolated  when  he  returned  and  found  he  had 
missed  Colonel  O'Rourke. 

"He'll    be    back    soon,    monsieur?" 

"  Alas,  no !  "  with  a  shrug.  "  He  is  en  route  for 
Paris — possibly  arrived  by  this  moment — on  mat- 
ters of  state." 

"And  he  left?" 

"  Several  days  since,  monsieur." 

"You  know  nothing  of  this  package,  indorsed 
"with  the  name  of  Monsieur  Chambret?  " 

To  the  contrary:  the  secretary  knew  it  very  well. 
He  could  place  his  hand  upon  it  at  any  moment- 
monsieur  would  appreciate  that  he  durst  not  sur- 
render it  without  the  Governor's  authority. 

O'Rourke  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief  and  was 
abruptly  conscious  of  fatigue  and  a  desire  to  get 
away  and  rest. 

"  I'm  obliged  to  ye,"  he  said  slowly,  rising.  "  I'll 
have  to  wait  until  the  Governor  returns,  I  presume. 
By  the  way,  are  ye  be  any  chance  ac- 
quainted with  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  des  Trebes  ?  " 

But  certainly;  the  vicomte  was  a  great  friend  of 


116  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

his  excellency's.  He  had  dined  with  his  excellency 
something  over  a  week  since,  just  prior  to  the  latter's 
(departure. 

"And  I  take  it  ye  have  seen  nothing  of  the  gen- 
tleman since  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  monsieur :  the  vicomte  called 
here  but  two  days  ago."  It  appeared  that  he  had 
desired  some  trifling  information,  with  which  the 
secretary  had  obliged  him. 

"  Ye  didn't  happen  to  leave  him  alone  in  this 
room?  " 

The  secretary,  plainly  much  perplexed  by  this  odd 
catechism,  admitted  that  such  had  been  the  case ;  the 
pursuit  of  the  desired  data  had  necessitated  his  ab- 
sence from  the  Governor's  room  for  a  matter  of  some 
ten  minutes. 

"  But  ye  say  ye  can  put  your  hand  on  this  pack- 
age?" 

"  But  certainly,  monsieur." 

"  Would  ye  mind  making  sure  'tis  safe?  'Twould 
save  me  a  deal  of  waiting,  perhaps " 

With  alacrity  and  a  smile  that  deprecated  his 
visitor's  anxiety  over  so  trifling  a  matter,  the  secre- 
tary rose,  went  to  the  safe  and  confidently  enough 
thrust  a  hand  into  one  of  the  pigeon-holes.  The  hand 
came  forth  empty.  A  frown  of  bewilderment  clouded 
the  secretary's  face.  "  It  must  be  here,"  he  an- 
nounced with  conviction.  "  It  was  in  plain  sight 
and  labelled  with  the  name  of  Monsieur  Cham- 


CHAPTER   TEN  117 

bret  .  .  ."  He  turned.  "  If  Monsieur  le  Colonel 
will  but  return  in  half  an  hour,  I  undertake  then  to 
show  him  the  packet  itself.  I  shall  by  then  have 
found  it — but  assuredly !  " 

"Ye  are  very  courteous,  monsieur.  I  will  re- 
turn." 

This  he  did — in  two  hours.  The  packet  had  not 
been  found;  the  secretary,  in  a  flutter  of  nerves, 
confessed  that  through  some  culpable  negligence,  it 
must  have  been  misplaced.  An  extended  search  was 
even  then  in  progress.  It  would  surely  come  to  light 
before  evening. 

"  Thank  ye ;  I  shan't  be  back,"  returned  O'Rourke 
grimly;  and  went  away,  downcast  for  the  first  time 
since  the  inception  of  the  adventure.  "  Faith !  and 
to  think  I  would  not  believe  the  truth  when  they 
slapped  me  face  with  it!  And  all  the  time,  belike, 
'twas  in  the  vicomte's  own  pocket!  .  .  ."  But 
he  had  no  vocabulary  adequate  to  the  task  of  ex- 
pressing his  self-contempt. 

Disconsolate,  conceiving  that  he  had  proven  him- 
self a  blind,  egregious  fool,  he  plodded  with  heavy 
steps  and  a  hanging  head  back  to  his  hotel;  where 
the  crowning  stroke  of  the  day  was  presented  to  him 
in  the  shape  of  a  note,  by  the  hand  of  a  black  Biskri 
porter. 

"  Monsieur  le  Colonel  Terence  O'Rourke.  Be 
hand,"  he  conned  the  address.  "  Faith,  and  what's 
this?" 


118  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

If  Monsieur  le  Colonel  O'Rourke  will  do  Monsieur  des 
Tresbes  the  honour  of  dining  with  him,  at  seven  for  seven- 
thirty  this  evening,  at  the  Villa  d'Orleans,  St.  Eugene,  an 
arrangement  satisfactory  to  both  himself  and  Monsieur  le 
Vicomte  may  be  consummated. 

R.  S.  V.  P.— The  bearer  waits. 


A  trap  ?  A  subterfuge  ?  A  trick  to  throw  him  off 
the  scent  whilst  the  two  blackguards  escaped  with 
their  booty?  The  adventurer  frowned  darkly  over 
it,  dubious.  Then,  in  a  flush  of  recklessness,  he 
seized  a  sheet  of  paper  from  a  near-by  desk,  scrawled 
a  formal  acceptance  of  the  strange  invitation,  and 
handed  it  to  the  Biskri  boy.  "  All  to  gain,  naught 
to  lose,"  he  summed  up  the  state  of  mind  which  had 
dictated  his  response;  and  at  six-thirty,  with  brow 
and  eye  serene,  he  left  the  hotel  in  a  carriage  bound 
for  the  suburb  of  St.  Eugene — and  heaven  knew 
where  besides ! 


C  H  AP  T  E  R 
ELEVEN 

THE  Villa  d'Orleans  proved  to  be  a  handsome  house 
of  white  stone,  situated  in  extensive  and  well-groomed 
grounds,  on  a  height  outside  the  town,  overlooking 
the  Mediterranean.  So  complete  and  elegant  seemed 
the  establishment,  indeed,  viewed  from  without  or 
within,  that  O'Rourke's  suspicions  were  stimulated 
and  his  certainty  that  he  was  being  played  with  re- 
solved into  a  pretty  definite  conviction,  as  he  waited 
in  the  broad  hallway.  It  was  inconceivable  that  a 
man  like  Des  Trebes,  so  reduced  as  to  be  under  the 
necessity  of  stealing — even  of  stealing  so  consider- 
able a  sum  as  a  hundred  thousand  pounds — could 
maintain  so  imposing  an  establishment. 

His  uneasy  conjectures  were  interrupted  when  the 
vicomte  appeared  to  welcome  his  guest.  Suave, 
dressed  properly  for  the  occasion,  showing  traces 
neither  of  fatigue  nor  of  his  antipathy  for  O'Rourke, 
blandly  ignoring  the  peculiarities  of  the  situation 
which  his  own  inexplicable  invitation  had  created, 
he  presented  himself  in  the  guise  of  a  gracious 
host.  Nature  had  fitted  him  to  play  such  a  role 
with  unquestionable  aplomb,  when  he  cared  to ;  only 
119 


120  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

now  and  then  in  his  speech  could  be  detected  the 
strain  of  antagonism  and  nervousness  underlying 
tis  flowery  periods. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  declared,  bowing  to  O'Rourke 
(but  with  a  care  not  to  offer  his  hand),  "  overpowers 
me  with  his  condescension  and  punctuality.  I  can 
only  regret " — with  a  significant  glance  at  the 
bulge  of  the  adventurer's  coat — "  that  he  thought  it 
wise  to  come  armed." 

"  'Tis  a  habit  I  find  it  hard  to  break  meself  of." 
O'Rourke  offered  the  inadequate  explanation  in  a 
dry  and  coolish  tone.  He  was  not  in  the  humour 
for  such  play-acting  as  the  vicomte's ;  it  suited  his 
mood  best  to  be  blunt,  pending  the  disclosure  of 
Des  Trebes'  intentions. 

"  It  was  unnecessary,  I  assure  monsieur." 
"  Faith,  I'm  convinced  'twill  prove  so." 
Tactfully  the  vicomte  digressed  from  the  unpleas- 
ant topic.     "  I  have  asked  you  here,  monsieur,"  he 
said  with  an  air  of  deprecation,  "  to  confer  with  me 
on  business  after  we  have  dined.    I  trust  the  arrange- 
ment suits  your  convenience." 
"I'm  content,  monsieur." 

"  I  regret  that  circumstances  prevent  me  from  re- 
ceiving you  under  my  own  roof-tree.  The  Villa 
d'Orleans  is  the  property  of  a  dear  friend,  merely 
loaned  me  during  my  stay  in  Algiers." 

"'  Ye're  fortunate  in  your  choice  of  friends." 
Over  his  next  remark  Des  Trebes  faltered  a  trifle, 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN  121 

with  a  curious  smile  that  O'Rourke  failed  to  fathom. 
"  Monsieur  Glynn,"  he  said,  "  is — ah — a  trifle  in- 
disposed— the  sun.  Nevertheless,  I  believe  he  will 
join  us  during  dinner,  if  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to 
excuse  him ?  " 

"  I  could  do  very  well  without  him." 

The  vicomte  caught  the  eye  of  a  servant,  and, 
"  Dinner  is  announced,"  he  said.  "  Do  me  the  hon- 
our to  accompany  me  to  the  table." 

It  was  a  strange  meal:  the  strangest,  O'Rourke 
thought,  he  had  ever  sat  through,  and  he  had  dined 
in  many  a  various,  curious  way  in  his  time.  The 
food  was  perfection,  the  service  excellent,  the  wines  a 
delight.  Over  across  the  gleaming  cloth  the  vicomte 
sat,  accomplished,  imperturbable,  a  moderately  fas- 
cinating conversationalist,  his  ready  wits  and 
tongue  illuminating  every  topic  that  they  touched 
upon.  Yet — now  and  again — his  eye  darkened 
as  it  flitted  across  the  Irishman's  face,  now  and 
again  the  momentous  nature  of  his  scheme  scratched 
the  polished  surface  of  the  man  of  the  world,  betray- 
ing the  malignant  and  ruthless  nature  beneath. 

In  the  course  of  time,  as  the  vicomte  had  pre- 
dicted, the  Honourable  Bertie  joined  them;  and  on 
sight  O'Rourke  diagnosed  the  "  indisposition "  as 
plain  intoxication.  The  Englishman  was  deep  in  his 
cups,  far  too  deep  to  ape  the  urbanity  of  his  host. 
He  favoured  O'Rourke  with  a  curt  nod  and  a  surly 
look,  then  slumped  limply  into  a  chair  and  called  for 


18S  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

champagne,  which  he  drank  greedily  and  with  a  sul- 
len air,  avoiding  the  vicomte's  eye.  Before  dessert 
was  served  he  passed  into  a  black  humour,  and  sat 
mutely  glowering  at  his  glass  (what  time  he  was  not 
unsteadily  filling  it)  without  regard  for  either  of  his 
companions. 

When  the  cloth  was  cleared  and  the  servants  had 
withdrawn,  Des  Trebes  definitely  cast  aside  pretence. 
A  cigarette  between  his  lips,  he  lounged  in  his  chair, 
eyelids  drooping  over  eyes  that  never  left  his  guest's 
while  either  spoke.  A  cynical  smile  prefaced  his 
first  words. 

"  So,"  he  said,  "  the  farce  is  over.  Some  regard 
for  the  conventions  was  necessary  before  the  serv- 
ants of  my  friend,  the  owner  of  this  villa.  Now,  we 
can  be  natural,  Monsieur  le  Colonel." 

"  Be  all  means ;  I  cannot  say  I  found  the  play 
diverting,  despite  the  skill  of  your  friend's  chef.  I 
gather  ye  wish  to  get  to  business  ?  Well — I'm  wait- 
ing." O'Rourke  pulled  at  a  cigar,  honouring  the 
man  with  cat-like  attention.  He  had  no  longer  to 
watch  the  honourable;  the  latter  had  wilfully  re- 
lieved him  of  the  necessity. 

"  You  have  been,  then,"  pursued  the  vicomte, 
without  further  circumlocution,  "  to  the  palace  of 
Monsieur  le  Gouverneur-Generale  ?  " 

"  I  have — unfortunately  a  few  days  too  late,  it 
seems." 

"  You  are  satisfied ?  " 


CHAPTER    ELEVEN 

"  I'm  satisfied  that  the  Pool  of  Flame  has  been 
stolen." 

"  Then  you  will  probably  believe  me  when  I  de- 
clare myself  the  malefactor.  It  was  an  easy  mat- 
ter: I  purposely  brought  up. the  name  of  Chambret 
in  conversation  with  the  Governor  and  by  him  was 
informed  of  the  existence  of  the  packet — which,  of 
course,  I  had  already  surmised.  Afterwards  .  .  . 
the  secretary  was  absent,  the  safe  open,  the  name 
on  the  packet  stared  me  in  the  face.  What  could 
I  do?" 

"  Precisely.  I'm  convinced  that,  being  what  ye 
are,  ye  did  only  what  ye  could." 

The  vicomte  bowed,  amusement  flickering  in  his 
glance.  "  Touched,"  he  admitted.  ..."  Well 
.  .  .  I  have  the  jewel,  you  the  information." 

"  And  ye  have  to  propose ?  " 

"  A  plan  after  your  own  heart :  I  do  your  courage 
the  credit  to  believe  it,  monsieur.  With  another  man, 
whom  I  had  studied  less  exhaustively,  I  should  pro- 
pose a  combination  of  forces,  a  division  of  profits." 
O'Rourke  made  an  impatient  gesture.  "  But  with 
you,  Colonel  O'Rourke,  no.  I  esteem  your  address 
and  determination  too  highly  and — pardon  me  if 
I  speak  plainly — I  despise  and  hate  you  too  utterly 
to  become  willingly  your  partner." 

"Go  on — I  begin  to  like  ye  better.  Ye  grow  in- 
teresting." 

"  That  does  not  interest  me.     .  The  situa- 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

tion,  then,  is  simplified.  Essentially  it  involves  two 
propositions:  first,  we  cannot  combine;  second,  di- 
vided we  both  fail.  While  both  of  us  live,  mon 
colonel,  the  Pool  of  Flame  will  never  earn  its  value." 

"  'Tis  meself  takes  exception  to  that.  Let  me  once 
get  me  hands  on  the  stone,  monsieur,  and  I'll  back 
meself  against  a  dozen  vicomtes — and  honourables." 

"  While  I  live,"  the  Frenchman  stated,  unruffled, 
"  you  will  not  touch  the  Pool  of  Flame ;  while  you 
live,  I  cannot  dispose  of  it  to  the  best  advantage.  It 
would  seem  that  one  or  the  other  of  us  must  die." 

"  I  am  armed,"  remarked  O'Rourke  slowly,  "  if  ye 
mean  ye've  brought  me  here  to  murder  me — — " 

"  Monsieur  speaks — pardon — crudely.  I  asked 
you,  you  came  of  your  own  will — to  fight  for  the 
Pool  of  Flame."  O'Rourke  started;  a  glint  of  un- 
derstanding danced  in  his  eager  eyes.  "  I  see  you 
catch  my  meaning.  What  I  have  to  propose  is  this : 
you  will  take  pen  and  paper  and  write  the  name  of 
the  person  who  offers  the  reward,  with  his  address. 
This  you  will  enclose  in  an  envelope,  seal,  and  place 
in  your  pocket.  The  Pool  of  Flame — you  see  I 
trust  you — is  here." 

O'Rourke  got  upon  his  feet  with  an  exclamation ; 
the  vicomte  was  playing  a  bold  hand.  Before  the 
Irishman  had  grasped  his  intention  he  had  thrown 
upon  the  table  a  ruby  as  large,  or  larger,  than  an 
egg;  an  exquisite  jewel,  superbly  cut  and  polished. 
Like  a  blood-red  pool  of  living  flame  indeed  it  lay 


CHAPTER    ELEVEN  125 

between  them,  palpitating  with  strange  and  sinister 
fire  upon  the  polished  mahogany,  flanked  by  the  pale 
lustre  of  cut-glass  decanters  and  tumblers. 

Fascinated,  O'Rourke  remembered  himself  and  sat 
down.  Momentarily  temptation  had  been  strong 
upon  him  to  make  an  end  of  the  vicomte  and  have 
done  with  him  altogether;  yet,  thief  though  he  held 
the  man,  his  concept  of  honour  restrained  him. 

"  You  see."  The  vicomte's  cold  incisive  tones  cut 
the  silence.  Slowly  he  extended  a  hand  and  took 
up  the  great  ruby,  replacing  it  in  his  pocket. 

"  There  is,"  he  said  evenly,  "  a  level  stretch  of 
grass  beyond  the  verandah.  The  night,  I  admit,  is 
dark,  but  the  light  from  these  long  windows  should 
be  sufficient  for  us.  If  you  slay  me,  take  the  ruby 
and  go  in  peace :  this  sot  " — with  a  contemptuous 
glance  at  the  unconscious  honourable — "  will  never 
hinder  you.  If  you  die,  I  take  the  note  from  your 
pocket.  The  issue  is  fair.  Will  you  fight,  Irish- 
man? " 

O'Rourke's  fist  crashed  upon  the  table  as  he  rose. 
"  Fight !  "  he  cried.  "  Faith,  I  did  not  think  ye  had 
this  in  ye.  Pistols,  shall  it  be  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  vicomte,  with  a  courtly 
bow,  "  but  I  am  an  indifferent  shot.  Had  you 
chosen  rapiers-  at  Monte  Carlo  one  of  us  would 
never  have  left  the  field  alive." 

He  went  to  a  side  table,  returning  with  a  sheet  of 
paper,  an  envelope,  pen  and  ink.  And  when  O'Rourke 


126  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

had  slipped  the  paper  into  his  pocket  he  saw  the 
vicomte  waiting  for  him  by  one  of  the  windows,  two 
naked  rapiers,  slender  and  gleaming  and  long,  be- 
neath his  arm.  As  the  Irishman  came  up,  with  a 
bow,  the  Frenchman  presented  the  hilts  of  both 
weapons  for  his  choice. 

Together  and  in  silence  they  left  the  dining-room, 
strode  across  the  verandah  and  down,  a  short  step,  to 
the  lawn.  The  vicomte  stood  aside  quickly,  bring- 
ing his  feet  together  and  saluting  in  the  full  glare 
of  light. 

O'Rourke  whipped  hilt  to  chin  with  consummate 
grace,  his  heart  singing.  Work  such  as  this  he 
loved.  The  night  was  pitchy  black,  the  windows 
barred  it  with  radiance.  In  the  dark  spaces  between 
a  man  might  easily  blunder  and  run  upon  his  death. 
.  .  .  Somewhere  in  the  shadowy  shrubbery  a  night- 
bird  was  singing  as  though  its  heart  would  break. 
There  was  a  sweet  smell  in  the  air. 

His  blade  touched  the  vicomte's  with  a  shivering 
crash,  musical  as  glass. 


CHAPTER 
TWELVE 

EARLY  in  the  dull  hot  dawn  a  clatter  of  winches  and 
a  bustle  of  shadowy  figures  on  the  deck  of  a  small 
trading  vessel,  which  had  spent  the  night  between 
the  moles  of  the  harbour  of  Algiers,  announced  that 
the  anchor  was  being  weighed.  Later,  canvas  was 
shaken  out  to  catch  the  first  faint  breath  of  the 
morning  breeze. 

While  this  was  taking  place  a  small  harbour  boat, 
manned  by  two  native  watermen  and  carrying  a 
single  passenger,  put  out  from  the  steamship  quay, 
the  oarsmen  rowing  with  a  will  that  hinted  at  a 
premium  having  been  placed  upon  their  speed.  The 
coaster  was  barely  under  way,  moving  slowly  in  the 
water,  when  the  boat  ran  alongside.  A  line  was 
thrown  from  the  ship  and  caught  by  one  of  the 
watermen,  the  boat  hauled  close  in,  and  its  passenger 
taken  on  deck. 

He  approached  the  captain  with  a  confident  and 
business-like  air.  The  negotiations  were  brief  and  de- 
cisive. No  questions  were  asked  by  the  captain,  no 
explanation  offered  by  the  would-be  passenger.  A 
price  was  named  and  agreed  to,  the  destination  fixed, 

127 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

the  passenger's  luggage  taken  aboard,  the  small  boat 
cast  off. 

An  hour  later,  a  pipe  between  his  teeth,  O'Rourke 
stood  by  the  helmsman,  staring  back  over  the  heav- 
ing expanse,  swiftly  widening,  that  lay  between  the 
coaster  and  the  Algerian  littoral.  The  world  be- 
hind was  grey  and  wan,  but  the  skies  ahead  were 
golden.  "  A  fair  omen ! "  breathed  the  adventurer 
hopefully. 

The  bulk  of  the  great  ruby  in  his  pocket 
brought  his  thoughts  back  in  a  wide  swing  to  the 
girl  who  would  be  waiting  for  him  at  Rangoon. 
"  Faith,  and  I  must  be  getting  below  and  making 
a  dab  at  writing  a  letter  to  her.  .  .  .  That  was 
nothing." 

He  nodded  with  meaning  towards  the  bold  profile 
of  Algiers ;  the  town  tumbled  down  the  hillside  to  the 
sea  like  an  avalanche  of  broken  snow,  relieved  here 
and  there  by  the  swelling,  bubble-like  dome  of  a 
mosque,  rose  pink  in  the  morning  glow. 

Then,  suddenly,  a  window,  far  up  on  the  heights 
of  St.  Eugene,  caught  the  first  far-flung  ray  of  the 
rising  sun  and  glowed  with  a  sullen,  sanguinary 
crimson  like  .  .  . 

With  a  sobered  visage  O'Rourke  turned  his  back 
and  looked  ahead,  into  the  promise  of  the  brooding 
East. 


CHAPTER 
THIRTEEN 

AN  ill  wind  it  was  that  blew  Colonel  O'Rourke  into 
Athens.  ...  It  has  blown  itself  out  and  been 
forgotten  this  many  a  day,  praises  be!  but  that, 
once  it  had  whisked  him  thither,  immediately  it  sub- 
sided and  stubbornly  it  refused  to  lift  again  and 
waft  him  forth  upon  his  wanderings,  in  the  course  of 
time  came  to  be  a  matter  of  grievous  concern  to  the 
Irishman. 

All  of  which  is  equivalent  to  saying  that  the  drop- 
ping breeze  of  his  finances  died  altogether  upon  his 
arrival  in  the  capital  of  Greece.  Travelling  by 
little-known  routes  and  turning  and  twisting  and 
doubling  upon  one's  trail  in  order  to  throw  off  pur- 
suit, is  a  business  more  or  less  expensive — and  gen- 
erally more.  O'Rourke  had  found  it  so,  at  least. 
He  who  had  started  forth  upon  his  quest  with  little 
enough,  in  all  conscience,  trusting  to  favourable 
chance  to  replenish  his  purse  when  the  need  arose, 
found  now  tardily  that  his  trust  had  been  misplaced. 
He  disembarked  from  a  coasting  steamer  in  the 
harbour  of  the  Piraeus  encumbered  with  a  hundred 
francs  or  so,  an  invincible  optimism,  a  trunk  and  a 

129 


130  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

kit-box,  and  a  king's  ransom  on  his  person  in  the 
shape  of  the  Pool  of  Flame ;  which  latter  was  hardly 
to  be  esteemed  a  negotiable  asset.  Thereafter  fol- 
lowed days  of  inaction,  while  his  money  ebbed,  his 
hopes  diminished;  and  he  began  to  recognise  the 
great  truth  that  underlies  one  of  the  most  admirable 
parodies,  that: 

"  There  is  a  tide  in  the  aff airs  of  men, 
Which,  taken  any  way  you  please,  is  bad, 
And  strands  them  in  forsaken  guts  and  creeks 
No  decent  soul  would  think  of  visiting.     .     .     ." 

Thus  Kipling;  to  whom  O'Rourke,  musing  upon 
these  lines  one  vacant  hour,  gave  credit  for  a  most 
penetrating  comprehension  in  the  matter  of  man's 
misfortunes.  He  felt  that  the  verse  might  have  been 
penned  especially  to  fit  his  case — felt  himself  a  bit 
of  driftwood,  flotsam  idle  in  a  backwater  of  ill  for- 
tunes. 

*Twas  indeed  the  divvle's  own  luck,  to  his  way  of 
thinking,  and  a  most  misfortunate  matter  entirely. 
He  who  was  not  the  most  patient  soul  in  the  world, 
resented  it  enormously;  and,  brooding  over  this  sad 
outcome  of  mischance,  fell  into  a  temper  sullen  and 
black — a  humour  rare  enough  with  the  man  to  be 
notable. 

Nearly  two  months  had  elapsed  since  he  had 
promised  two  people — himself  and  one  infinitely  more 
dear  to  him — to  be  in  Rangoon  in  ninety  days.  In 


CHAPTER   THIRTEEN  131 

little  more  than  a  month  she'd  be  waiting  for  him 
there.  .  .  .  And  where  would  he  be?  Still  was 
he  far  by  many  a  long  and  weary  mile  from  the  first 
gateway  to  the  East — Suez;  and  still  he  lacked 
many  an  aloof  and  distant  dollar  the  funds  to  finance 
him  thither. 

If  only  he  could  contrive  to  get  to  Alexandria — ! 
Danny  was  there — Danny  Mahone,  he  of  the  red,  red 
head  and  the  ready  fists;  Danny,  who  held  the 
O'Rourke  as  only  second  to  the  Pope  in  dignity  and 
importance;  who  had  been  O'Rourke's  valet  in  a 
happier  time  and  of  late  in  his  humbler  way  an  ad- 
venturer like  his  master.  He  was  there,  in  Alexan- 
dria, half  partner  in  a  tobacco  importing  house,  by 
virtue  of  money  borrowed  from  O'Rourke  long  since, 
at  a  time  when  money  was  to  be  had  of  the  man  for 
the  asking.  .  .  .  And  Danny  would  help.  .  .  . 

You  must  see  O'Rourke  revolving  in  his  mind  this 
unhappy  predicament  of  his,  on  the  last  of  the 
many  afternoons  that  he  spent  in  Greece.  Draw 
down  the  corners  of  his  wide,  mobile  mouth,  stir  up 
the  devils  in  his  eyes  until  they  flicker  and  flash  their 
resentment,  place  a  pucker  between  the  brows  of  his 
habitually  serene  and  unwrinkled  forehead;  and 
there  you  have  him  who  sat  beside  the  little  table  in 
the  purple  shadow  of  the  Zappeion,  with  a  head  bared 
to  the  cool  of  the  evening  breeze,  alternately  puffing 
at  a  mediocre  cigar  and  sipping  black  coffee  from 
the  demi-tasse  at  his  elbow. 


132  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

Now  and  again  desisting  from  these  diversions, 
the  Irishman  would  sit  for  minutes  at  a  time  quite 
motionless,  his  gaze  wandering  longingly  towards  the 
empurpled  reaches  of  the  sea,  glowing  soft  beyond 
the  Attic  plain,  where  JEgina  dimly  loomed,  allur- 
ing the  fancy,  as  if  offering  itself  as  the  first  step- 
ping-stone from  those  hated  shores  to  a  fairer, 
stranger  land.  .  .  . 

Now  just  as  the  sun  was  sinking  behind  the  moun- 
tains and  Hymettus  was  clothing  its  long  slopes  in 
vague  violet  light  of  mystery  and  enchantment 
(for  this  view  alone  O'Rourke  took  himself  to  the 
Zappeion  daily)  the  Irishman's  sombre  meditations 
were  interrupted. 

"  Phew !  'Otter'n  the  seven  brass  'inges  of  'ell !  " 
remarked  a  cheerful  voice,  not  two  feet  from  his 
ear. 

O'Rourke  turned  with  an  imperceptible  start — he 
was  not  easily  startled.  "  True  for  ye,"  he  assented, 
taking  stock  of  him  who,  with  his  weather-wise  re- 
mark for  an  introduction,  calmly  possessed  himself 
of  the  vacant  chair  at  the  other  side  of  the  table  and 
grinned  a  rubicund  grin  across  it. 

He  showed  himself  a  man  in  stature  no  whit  in- 
ferior to  the  Irishman,  as  to  height ;  and  perhaps  he 
was  a  stone  the  heavier  of  the  two.  He  lacked,  other- 
wise, O'Rourke's  alert  habit,  was  of  a  slower,  more 
stolid  and  beefy  build.  The  eyes  that  met 
O'Rourke's  were  grey  and  bright  and  hard,  and  set 


CHAPTER    THIRTEEN  133 

in  a  countenance  flaming  red — a  colour  partly  nat- 
ural and  partly  the  result  of  his  stroll  through 
Athens'  heated  streets. 

His  dress  was  rough,  and  there  was  this  and  that 
about  him  to  tell  O'Rourke  more  plainly  than  words 
that  his  profession  was  something  nautical;  he  was 
most  probably  a  captain,  from  a  certain  air  of  de- 
termination and  command  that  lurked  beneath  his 
free-and-easy  manner. 

Therefore,  having  summed  the  stranger  up  in  a 
glance,  "And  when  did  ye  get  in,  captain?"  in- 
quired O'Rourke. 

The  man  jumped  with  surprise  and  shot  a  fright- 
ened— at  least  a  questioning — glance  at  O'Rourke. 
Then,  seeing  that  he  was  smiling  in  a  friendly 
fashion,  calmed  and  continued  to  cool  his  face  and 
heat  his  blood  by  fanning  himself  vigorously  with  a  • 
straw  hat. 

"  'Ow  the  dooce  do  you  know  I'm  a  captain  ?  " 
he  demanded,  with  a  slightly  aggrieved  manner. 

"  It  shouldn't  take  a  man  an  hour  to  guess  that, 
captain — any  more  than  it  would  to  pick  ye  out  for 
an  Englishman." 

The  captain  stared,  grey  eyes  widening.  "  An' 
perhaps  you'll  tell  me  my  nyme  next  ?  "  he  suggested 
rather  truculently. 

"  Diwle  a  bit.  'Tis  no  clairvoyant  I  am," 
laughed  O'Rourke.  "  But  I  can  tell  ye  me  own. 
'Tis  O'Rourke,  and  'tis  delighted  I  am  to  meet  a 


134.  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

white  man  in  this  heathen  country.  Sir,  your 
hand!" 

He  put  his  own  across  the  table  and  gripped  the 
captain's  heartily. 

"Mine's  'Ole,"  the  latter  informed  him. 

"  Ole?  "  queried  O'Rourke.     "  Ole  what?  " 

"  Not  Ole  nothing,"  said  the  captain  with  some 
pardonable  asperity.  "I  didn't  s'y  'Ole,  I  s'yd 
'Ole." 

"  Of  course,"  O'Rourke  assented  gravely.  "  I'm 
stupid,  Captain  Hole,  and  a  bit  deaf  in  me  off  ear." 
This,  however,  was  a  polite  lie. 

"  That  explyns  it,"  agreed  the  mollified  man. 
"  It's  'Ole,  plyn  Will'm  'Ole,  master  of  the  Pelican, 
fryghter,  just  in  from  Malta." 

A  light  of  interest  kindled  in  O'Rourke's  eyes. 
He  reviewed  the  man  with  more  respect,  as  due  to  one 

who  might  prove  useful.  "And  bound ?"  he 

insinuated  craftily. 

"  Alexandria.  ...  I  just  dropped  in  for  a  d'y 
or  two  to  pick  up  a  bit  of  cargo  from  a  chap  down 
at  Piraeus.  It's  dev'lish  'ot  and  I  thought  as 
'ow  I'd  tyke  a  run  up  and  see  the  city — 'aving  a  bit 
of  time  free,  y'know." 

"  Surely,"  sighed  O'Rourke,  a  far-away  look  in  his 
eyes.  "For  Alexandria,  eh?  Faith,  I'd  like  to  be 
sailing  with  ye." 

Again  the  captain  eyed  O'Rourke  askance.  "  Wot 
for?  "  he  demanded  directly.  "  The  Pelican's  a  slow 


CHAPTER    THIRTEEN  135 

old  tramp.  You  can  pick  up  a  swifter  passage  on 
'arf-a-dozen  boats  a  day." 

'  'Tis  meself  that  knows  that,  sure,"  assented  the 
Irishman.  "  'Tis  but  a  trifling  difficulty  about  ready 
money  that  detains  me,"  he  pursued  boldly,  with  a 
confidential  jerk  of  his  head.  "  There's  a  bit  of 
stuff — no  matter  what — that  I  don't  want  to  pass 
through  the  Custom  House  at  Alexandria.  I'm  not 
saying  a  word,  captain,  but  if  I  could  smuggle  it 
into  Egypt,  the  profit  would  be  great  enough  to  pay 
me  passage-money  a  dozen  times  over.  I'm  saying 
this  to  ye  in  strict  confidence,  for,  being  an  English- 
man, ye  won't  let  on." 

"  Never  fear,"  Hole  asserted  stoutly.  *'  Umm. 
.  .  .  Er — I  don't  mind  telling  you,  Mr.  O'Rourke, 
I  sometimes  do  a  little  in  that  line  myself.  Being 
a  casual  tramp  and  sometimes  lyd  by  for  weeks  at  a 
stretch  for  want  of  consignment " 

"  Not  another  word,  captain.  I  understand  per- 
fectly. Will  ye  be  having  a  bit  of  a  drink, 
now?" 

Captain  Hole  would.  "  It  won't  'urt  to  talk  this 
over,"  he  remarked.  "  Per'aps  we  might  myke  some 
sort  of  a  dicker." 

"  Faith,  'tis  meself  that's  agreeable,"  laughed  the 
Irishman  lightly. 

And  when,  at  midnight  that  night,  he  parted  from 
a  moist  and  sentimental  sailor-man,  whose  capacity 
for  liquor — even  including  the  indescribable  native 


136  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

retsinato  and  masticha — had  proved  enormous,  the 
arrangement  had  been  arrived  at,  signed,  sealed  and 
delivered  by  a  clasping  of  hands.  And  it  was 
O'Rourke  who  was  the  happy  man. 

"  'Tis  Danny  who'll  be  giving  me  the  welcome,"  he 
assured  himself,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  his  bed  and 
staring  thoughtfully  into  the  dishevelled  depths  of 
the  battered  steel  kit-box  that  housed  everything 
he  owned  in  the  world — for  he  was  packing  to  join 
the  Pelican  at  noon. 

"  I  hope  to  hiven  he  has  five  pounds,"  announced 
O'Rourke  later,  frowning  dubiously. 

Five  pounds  happened  to  be  the  sum  he  had  agreed 
to  pay  Captain  Hole  for  the  accommodation,  it  be- 
ing further  conditioned  that  the  latter  was  to  ac- 
company the  adventurer  ashore  at  Alexandria  and 
not  part  from  him  till  the  money  was  forthcoming: 
something  which  irked  the  Irishman's  soul.  "  Why 
could  he  not  take  me  word  for  it  ?  "  he  demanded  of 
midnight  darkness  tempered  by  feeble  lamplight. 
"  But,  faith,  I  forget  what  I'm  dealing  with.  Be- 
sides, 'tis  sure  I  am  to  find  Danny." 

He  arose  and  resumed  his  packing,  blowing  an 
inaudible  little  air  through  his  puckered  lips.  "  Div- 
vilish  awkward  if  I  don't  ...  By  the  Gods !  I'd 
all  but  misremembered  .  .  ." 

He  failed  to  state  exactly  what  he  had  misremem- 
bered, but  stood  motionless,  with  troubled  eyes  star- 


CHAPTER    THIRTEEN  137 

ing  at  the  lamp  flame,  for  a  full  five  minutes. 
Then— 

"  I'll  have  to  chance  it,"  he  said  slowly.  "  'Tisn't 
as  if  it  were  mine." 

He  unbuttoned  the  front  of  his  shirt  and  thrust  a 
hand  between  his  undershirt  and  his  skin,  fumbling 
about  under  his  left  armpit,  his  brows  still  gathered 
thoughtfully.  Presently  he  gave  a  little  jerk  and 
removed  his  hand.  It  contained  a  chamois-skin  bag 
about  the  size  of  a  duck's  egg,  from  which  dangled 
the  stout  cord  by  which  he  had  slung  it  about  his 
neck. 

Holding  this  gingerly,  as  if  he  feared  it  would 
explode,  O'Rourke  glanced  at  the  window,  drew 
the  blind  tight,  and  tiptoed  to  the  door,  where  he 
turned  the  key  in  the  lock.  Then,  returning  to  his 
bed  and  making  sure  that  he  was  out  of  range  of  the 
keyhole,  he  cautiously  loosened  the  drawstring  at 
the  mouth  of  the  bag. 

Something  tumbled  out  into  his  palm  and  lay 
there  like  a  ball  of  red-fire,  brilliant  and  coruscant. 
The  smoky  rays  of  light  from  the  lamp  seemed  to 
leap  into  the  heart  of  the  thing  and  set  it  all  aquiver 
with  dancing  flame,  deep  and  liquid.  As  the  man's 
hand  trembled  slightly,  shafts  of  incredibly  brilliant 
light  radiated  from  its  lucent  core  and  seemed  to 
illuminate  all  the  room  with  a  lurid  and  unearthly 
glamour. 


138  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

O'Rourke  caught  at  his  breath  sharply;  his  very 
voice  had  an  ominous  ring  in  its  timbre  when  he 
spoke  at  length. 

"  Blood,"  he  said  slowly,  "  blood.  .  .  .  I  doubt 
not  that  rivers  of  blood  have  flowed  for  the  sake  of 
ye.  Belike  ye  were  fashioned  of  blood  in  the  begin- 
ning, for  'tis  that's  your  colour,  and  the  story  of 
ye  as  I've  heard  it  is  all  told  when  I've  said  that  one 
word — blood!  .  .  . 

"  And  'tis  meself  that's  to  take  ye  to  far  Burmah, 
is  it?  'Tis  meself  that's  to  make  an  everlasting  for- 
tune out  of  the  return  of  ye  to  him  who  once  owned 
ye,  eh?  I  don't  know  why — 'tis  not  like  O'Rourke 
to  be  timorous — but  I  begin  to  believe  that,  fair  as 
the  future  seems,  I'll  never  do  it.  The  odds  are  too 
great,  I'm  thinking,  even  for  the  O'Rourke." 

He  laughed  shortly,  and  guardedly.  "  And  the 
O'Rourke  with  this  on  his  person  will  be  pawning  his 
guns  and  swords  to-morrow  for  the  wherewithal  to 
settle  his  hotel  bill ! "  And,  after  a  bit,  "  I'd  best 
put  it  away,  I'm  thinking.  'Twouldn't  be  safe  to 
carry  it  that  way  any  longer.  If  something  should 
catch  in  me  shirt  on  board,  and  rip  it,  and  Hole 
happened  to  see  it — why,  me  life  wouldn't  be  worth 
a  moment's  purchase.  I'll  hide  it  in  me  box  there; 
they'll  niver  suspect.  .  .  .  Why  would  a  man 
with  a  jewel  like  this  be  reduced  to  begging  a  pas- 
sage to  Alexandria?  Faith,  I  hope  the  captain 


CHAPTER    THIRTEEN  139 

doesn't  get  too  curious  about  what  I  want  to  smug- 
gle into  Egypt ! " 

And  with  that  he  thrust  the  Pool  of  Flame  back 
into  the  leather  bag,  and  the  bag  into  the  depths  of 
the  kit-box ;  which  he  presently  locked  and  noiselessly 
moved  beneath  his  bed.  After  all  of  which  he  lay 
down  and  with  another  sigh  slept  tranquilly. 


SOME  time  in  the  golden  afternoon  of  the  following 
day,  the  Pelican  weighed  anchor  and  slouched  with  a 
loaferish  air  out  of  the  harbour  of  the  Piraeus.  A 
thick-set,  stodgy  boat  she  was,  with  a  rakish  list  to 
port,  a  rusty  freeboard  from  which  the  paint  was 
peeling  in  strips,  and  a  generally  truculent,  you-be- 
damned  swagger  (when  the  screw  began  to  kick  up 
a  welter  of  foam  under  her  stern)  that  reminded  one 
for  all  the  world  of  Captain  Hole  himself  in  his  work- 
ing clothes. 

"  Plyn  Bill  'Ole,"  the  latter  said  he  preferred  to 
be  called.  And  "  Plain  Bill  Hole !  "  mused  the  Irish- 
man, leaning  over  the  forward  rail  and  sucking  at  a 
short  black  pipe.  "  Faith,  not  only  plain,  but  even 
a  trifle  homely,"  he  amended  judgmatically. 
"  You'd  never  be  taking  any  prizes  for  personal  pul- 
chritude, captain  dear — unless,  to  be  sure,  'twas  a 
bench  show,  where  I'm  thinking  ye'd  do  fine! 

"  As  for  meself,"  he  concluded  later,  "  Pm  no 
siren  in  this  rig."  And  he  lifted  his  eyebrows,  pro- 
truding his  lower  lip,  as  he  glanced  down  over  his 
attire. 

140 


CHAPTER    FOURTEEN  141 

It  was  a  strange  rig  for  the  O'Rourke  to  be  in :  an 
engineer's  blue  jumper,  much  the  worse  for  wear, 
and  a  pair  of  trousers  whose  seat,  O'Rourke  main- 
tained, was  only  held  together  by  its  coating  of  dirt 
and  grease.  The  latter,  moreover,  had  been  built  for 
a  shorter  man  than  the  adventurer,  and  in  conse- 
quence exposed  at  their  lower  extremities  an  immod- 
est exhibit  of  Irish  ankle — a  disconcerting  sight  in- 
deed to  one  of  O'Rourke's  native  diffidence.  His  feet 
were  thrust  into  heelless  slippers  also  conspicuously 
lacking  at  the  toes,  his  undershirt  was  of  blue  flannel 
whose  primal  hue  was  fast  merging  into  spots  of 
drab  and  black  from  exposure  to  weather  and  con- 
tact with  grease;  and  the  belt  that  held  the  whole 
together  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  spare 
end  of  rope. 

O'Rourke  eyed  this  get-up  with  disdain.  '*  For- 
tunately," he  comforted  himself,  "'twon't  be  for- 
ever I'll  be  wearing  it." 

In  the  present  instance,  the  disguise  was  held  an 
advisable  thing,  since  O'Rourke  was  officially  regis- 
tered on  the  ship's  books  as  assistant  engineer.  The 
Pelican  carried  no  license  for  passengers,  and  in 
view  of  his  avowed  purpose  it  was  deemed  unwise 
for  the  Irishman  to  risk  detection  by  appearing  "  too 
tony"  (an  expression  culled  from  the  captain's 
vocabulary). 

Otherwise,  it  was  understood  that  his  duties  were 
to  consist  of  the  pursuit  of  his  own  sweet  will,  that  he 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

was  to  occupy  a  stateroom  aft,  and  that  he  was  to 
mess  at  the  captain's  table. 

With  this  arrangement  he  was  content.  Not  for 
an  instant  would  he  have  consented  to  herd  with  the 
crew,  though  Hole  had  tried  to  insist  upon  the  ad- 
visability of  such  a  course.  But  there  are  limits  to 
all  things,  and  O'Rourke  drew  a  line  at  association 
with  a  nondescript  company  recruited  from  the  slums 
of  Genoa,  Brindisi,  Constantinople  and  Alexandria: 
Greek,  Italians,  a  French  thug  or  two  and  as  many 
"  Sou'wegians."  The  engineer  was  a  Tyneside  man 
who  had  lost  his  license  in  the  wine-cup,  and  with 
the  second  officer,  a  lanky  Scot,  who  chose  to  be 
called  Dennison,  rounded  out  a  complement  carefully 
to  be  avoided,  either  as  a  body  or  individually,  espe- 
cially on  dark  nights. 

O'Rourke  held  himself  aloof  from  t"hem,  with  the 
exception  of  the  three  officers  mentioned,  not  be- 
cause he  feared  them  in  the  least,  but  because  he  was 
not  accustomed  to  mixing  with  such  cattle.  Conse- 
quently he  had  a  rather  lonely  passage;  for  Hole 
was  drunk  every  night  and  up  to  noon  of  every  day 
in  a  villainous  temper,  quite  naturally ;  Burch,  the 
engineer,  had  his  hands  full  making  the  engines  hold 
together  and  hammer  out  their  nine  or  ten  knots ; 
and  Dennison  was  uncompanionable — a  surly  brute 
who  loved  trouble  for  its  own  dear  sake  and  was 
never  so  happy  as  when  (in  his  favourite  phrase) 


CHAPTER   FOURTEEN  143 

hammering  the  fear  o'  God  into  this  or  that  hapless 
member  of  the  crew. 

So  O'Rourke  lounged  about  the  deck,  smoking  his 
cutty  and  loafing  with  a  right  good  will,  communing 
with  the  stars,  his  memories  and  the  blue,  glimmer- 
ing tide  of  the  JEgean  Sea. 

The  weather  held  bland  and  warm,  each  day  com- 
ing up  faultless  out  of  an  untroubled  sea;  and  the 
Pelican  seemed  bound  for  anywhere  at  all  save  Alex- 
andria. For  the  six  days  succeeding  her  departure 
from  the  Piraeus,  figuratively  she  hiked  up  her  slat- 
ternly skirts,  stuck  her  nose  in  the  air,  and  lurched 
casually  from  isle  to  isle  of  the  Grecian  Archipelago, 
with  no  apparant  purpose.  Her  course,  picked  out 
on  the  tattered  and  torn  chart  (years  out  of  date) 
resembled  as  much  as  anything  else  a  diagram  of  a 
sot's  progress  along  a  street  plentifully  studded  with 
publics. 

But  if  the  reason  for  this  leisurely  sauntering 
hither  and  yon  were  puzzling  to  the  uninitiated,  it 
was  occult  to  them  only.  If  Captain  Hole  made  no 
open  reference  to  his  business,  he  was  careless  about 
concealing  it.  The  fact  alone  that  the  Pelican  gen- 
erally laid  up  for  the  night  in  some  little-known 
island  harbour  was  significant;  as,  for  that  matter, 
was  the  additional  fact  that  the  captain,  accom- 
panied by  Dennison,  invariably  went  ashore  in  a 
boat  pulled  by  stupid  Sou'wegians,  to  return  to- 


144  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

wards  midnight  laden  with  mysterious  parcels,  all  of 
which  were  carted  into  the  captain's  stateroom  and 
there  secreted. 

O'Rourke,  who  had  been  where  he  had  been,  who 
had  seen  what  he  had  seen,  and  who  knew  what  he 
knew,  observed  these  matters  with  an  indifferent  eye ; 
and  if  he  took  the  trouble  to  put  two  and  two  to- 
gether in  his  mind,  he  was  at  some  pains  to  keep  the 
sum  total  to  himself. 

At  length,  however,  their  island  itinerary  seemed 
to  come  to  a  natural  close;  the  Pelican's  nose  was 
turned  southeast  and  a  course  shaped  direct  for 
Alexandria. 

On  an  evening,  then,  some  nine  or  ten  days  after 
he  had  left  Athens,  O'Rourke  at  the  forward  rail  saw 
the  long,  low  profile  of  Egypt  edge  up  out  of  the 
waters,  saw  it  take  colour  and  form,  made  out  palms 
and  the  windmills,  the  light-house  and  Pompey's 
pillar;  and  knew  that  he  was  close  upon  his  journey's 
end. 

The  news  presumably  was  conveyed  to  Burch,  and 
he,  with  the  prospect  of  an  orgy  ashore  that  night 
in  his  mind's  eye,  accomplished  the  all-but-miracu- 
lous with  the  engines.  The  Pelican  shuddered  and 
stiffened  up  with  a  jerk;  then,  gathering  her  be- 
draggled skirts  about  her  and  picking  up  her  heels, 
made  all  of  eleven  knots  and  possibly  a  shade  more. 

The  sun  was  just  setting  as  she  swung  impudently 
into  the  Western  Harbour,  with  a  gleam  in  her  eye 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN  145 

and  a  leer  for  her  more  reputable  sisters,  steaming 
to  an  anchorage  in  the  lee  of  the  great  breakwater, 
amongst  a  throng  composed  variously  of  Egyptian 
coasters,  canal-boats,  lateen-sailed  feluccas,  a  P. 
&  O.  liner  and  one  or  two  beetling  men-o'-war,  to  say 
nothing  of  lesser  fry  of  the  Mediterranean  trade. 

Her  winches  rattled  cheerfully  as  she  dropped  an- 
chor, but  O'Rourke  did  not  move.  There  would  be 
no  going  ashore,  he  knew,  until  Hole  was  ready,  and 
that  would  be  when  the  customs  officials  had  paid 
him  a  call  and  the  usual  courtesies  had  been  ex- 
changed. The  Irishman  had  no  need  to  be  in  haste 
to  change  from  his  present  garb  to  one  that  better 
suited  him.  So  he  lolled  upon  the  rail  and  regarded 
with  a  kindling  eye  the  harbour  views. 

To  the  east  the  Mohammedan  quarter  of  the  city, 
set  upon  the  peninsula  that  separates  the  harbours, 
glowed  in  rainbow  hues,  lifted  out  of  squalor  and 
glorified  by  the  setting  sun.  The  light  of  Pharos 
hung  a  silver  star  against  a  sky  draped  in  purple 
hangings.  Westwards  an  angry  sun  was  sinking  in 
a  welter  of  threatening  clouds,  painting  the  troubled 
waters  a  thousand  shades  of  red  and  gold.  Broad 
banners  of  scarlet  and  crimson  and  saffron  flaunted 
from  the  horizon  to  a  zenith  rapidly  darkening, 
shading  from  pure  sapphire  to  a  soft  and  warm  blu- 
ish black  in  the  east.  And  to  the  south  again  loomed 
the  bulk  of  the  city,  huge  and  dark,  humming  with 
mystery  and  writhing  in  hopeless  torment  beneath  the 


146  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

lash  of  the  khamsin,  that  hot  and  bitter  wind  that 
sweeps  down  to  the  coast  from  the  seething  deserts 
and,  once  started,  gives  no  respite  for  forty  days 
and  nights. 

But  even  the  khamsin  with  its  furnace  breath  had 
not  power  to  make  O'Rourke  disapprove.  It  was  all 
good,  all  desirable  and  inviting,  in  his  eyes. 

And  he  mopped  his  brow,  simply  (as  befitted  one 
of  his  apparent  station  in  life)  with  the  back  of  a 
hand,  and  stood  erect,  exulting  in  the  scent,  the  in- 
describable, impalpable,  insistent  odour  of  the  East 
that  is  forgotten  of  none  who  had  ever  known  it. 
The  hot  wind  drove  it  gustily  in  his  face,  and 
he  sniffed  and  drew  great  lungfuls  and  was  glad. 

"  'Tis  good ! "  he  said  simply.  And,  a  bit  later, 
while  on  the  short-line  the  brazen  arcs  were  begin- 
ning to  pop  out  silently :  "  There's  the  customs  boat. 
I'm  thinking  I'll  slip  below." 

As  he  turned  and  sauntered  aft  to  the  companion- 
way,  he  exchanged  a  nod  with  Burch,  who  was  mop- 
ping his  brow  in  the  entrance  to  the  engine-room; 
and  remarked  that  Captain  Hole  was  with  Dennison. 
at  the  side,  awaitiog  the  custom  launch. 

No  lamps  had  yet  been  lighted  below,  but 
O'Rourke  knew  the  way  to  his  room.  He  entered  and 
shut  the  door.  The  afterglow  of  the  sunset,  entering 
through  the  port-hole,  rendered  the  little  coop  of  a 
room  light  enough  for  his  purpose.  Dropping  to 


CHAPTER   FOURTEEN  147 

his  knees,  the  Irishman  pulled  his  kit-box  from  be- 
neath the  bunk. 

The  lid  came  up  freely  as  he  touched  it.  For  a 
full  minute  he  did  not  breathe.  Then,  in  ominous 
silence,  he  bent  and  examined  the  lock.  It  became 
immediately  evident  that  his  memory  had  not  tricked 
him ;  the  trunk  was  locked,  as  he  had  left  it  that 
morning.  But  the  clasp  had  yielded  to  a  cold  chisel. 

It  was  hardly  worth  the  trouble,  still  O'Rourke 
rummaged  through  the  contents  of  the  box,  assur- 
ing himself  that  the  chamois-bag  was  gone.  So  far 
as  he  could  determine  then,  nothing  else  had  been 
taken. 

He  shut  down  the  lid  and  sat  down  to  think  it  out, 
eyes  hard,  face  grimly  expressionless,  only  an  inter- 
mittent nervous  clenching  and  opening  of  his  hands 
betraying  his  gathering  rage  and  excitement.  At 
length  he  arose,  determination  in  his  port. 

One  phrase  alone  escaped  him :  "  And  not  a  gun  to 
me  name!" 

He  went  on  deck.  Already  the  tropic  night  had 
closed  down  upon  the  harbour,  but  it  was  easy 
enough  to  locate  the  captain  and  first  officer,  still 
waiting  at  the  gangway.  From  overside  arose  the 
splutter  of  a  launch — a  raucous  sound,  yet  one  that 
barely  rippled  the  surface  of  O'Rourke's  conscious- 
ness. He  stepped  quickly  to  the  captain's  side  and 
touched  him  gently  on  the  arm. 


148  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

"  Captain,"  he  said  quickly,  "  I'll  be  asking  the 
favour  of  a  word  with  ye  in  private." 

The  captain  swung  around  with  an  oath,  whether 
of  simulated  or  real  surprise  it  would  be  hard  to  say ; 
O'Rourke's  approach  had  been  noiseless  because  of 
his  slippers,  and  it  is  barely  possible  that  neither  of 
the  officers  had  remarked  his  descent  to  the  saloon. 

Hole  caught  the  gleam  of  the  Irishman's  eye  in 
the  lamplight  and — stepped  back  a  pace. 

"  Get  forrard,"  he  said  curtly.  "  Carn't  you  see 
the  customs  officer  comin*  aboard?  I'll  see  you 
later." 

"Ye  will  not.     Ye'll  hear  me  now,  captain " 

Hole  backed  further  away.  "  Wot !  "  he  barked 
hoarsely,  raising  his  voice.  *'  Wot !  I'll  show  you 
'oo's  master  aboard  this  ship.  Get  forrard  to  your 
quarters !  S'help-me-gawd !  "  he  exploded  violently. 
"  >Oo  ever  'eard  the  like  of  it?  " 

O'Rourke  stepped  nearer,  his  fists  closing.  "  Drop 
that  tone,  ye  scut ! "  he  cried.  "  D'ye  want  me  to 
spoil  your  little  game?  " 

The  shot  went  home.  The  captain  gasped,  and  in 
the  darkness  O'Rourke  fancied  he  lost  a  shade  or 
two  of  his  ruddy  colour. 

"  Wotcher  mean  ?  "  he  demanded,,  lowering  his 
tone. 

"  I  mean,"  replied  O'Rourke  in  a  quick  whisper. 
"  that  the  Egyptian  customs  officer  is  at  the  side. 
Return  what  ye've  stolen  from  me  this  day,  or  I'll 


CHAPTER    FOURTEEN  149 

tell  the  whole  harbour  what  ye've  been  up  to !  And, 
if  ye  want  me  to  be  more  explicit,  perhaps  the  word 
*  hashish  '  will  refresh  your  memory !  " 

"  I'll  talk  to  you  later " 

"  Ye'll  give  me  back  me  property  this  minute 
or " 

O'Rourke  was  at  the  rail  in  a  stride.  "  Shall  I 
tell  him?  "  he  demanded. 

A  swift  step  sounded  beside  him.  He  turned  an 
instant  too  late,  who  had  reckoned  without  Denni- 
son.  As  he  moved  to  protect  himself  the  first  offi- 
cer's fist  caught  the  Irishman  just  under  the  ear. 
And  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  pounds  of  man 
and  malice  were  behind  it.  O'Rourke  shot  into  the 
scuppers  as  though  kicked  by  a  mule,  struck  his 
head  against  a  piece  of  iron  work  and  lay  still,  half 
stunned,  shutting  his  teeth  savagely  upon  a  moan. 

Hole  and  the  first  mate  stood  over  him,  and  the 
captain's  voice,  guarded  but  clear  enough,  came  to 
his  ear: 

"  You'll  lie  there,  me  man,  and  not  so  much  as 
whimper  till  I  give  you  leave.  Take  'eed  wot  I  says. 
Mr.  Dennison  'ere  is  goin'  to  clean  'is  revolver." 

O'Rourke  lay  silent,  save  for  his  quick  breathing. 
The  first  officer,  grinning  malevolently,  sat  down  near 
at  hand,  keeping  a  basilisk  eye  upon  the  prostrate 
man  the  while  he  fondled  an  able-bodied,  hammerless 
Webley. 

Hole  moved  off  towards  the  gangway,  whence  his 


150  THE   POOL    OF   FLAME 

voice  arose,  an  instant  later,  greeting  his  visitor. 
The  latter  put  a  hurried  question,  which  O'Rourke 
did  not  catch,  but  the  captain's  reply  was  quick 
enough : 

"  Only  a  mutinous  dorg  of  a  deck-'and.  Wanted 
shore-leave  and  refused  to  go  forrard  when  or- 
dered. 'E  ain't  'urted  none.  Mr.  Dennison  'ere 
just  gyve  Jim  a  tap  to  keep  him  quiet." 

The  Irishman  swore  beneath  his  breath  and 
watched  the  first  officer.  The  light  from  the  lantern 
at  the  gangway  glanced  dully  upon  the  polished  bar- 
rel of  the  revolver,  and  the  gleaming  line  was  steadily 
directed  towards  O'Rourke's  head.  Upon  reconsider- 
ation he  concluded  to  lie  still,  to  wait  and  watch  his 
opportunity ;  for  the  present,  at  least,  he  was  indis- 
posed to  question  Dennison's  willingness  to  use  the 
weapon.  O'Rourke  was  to  be  kept  quiet  at  all  haz- 
ards, and  he  knew  it  full  well;  for  once  he  conceded 
discretion  the  better  part  of  valor,  and  was  patient. 


CHAPTER 
FIFTEEN 

IN  the  face  of  the  fact  that  the  importation  of 
hashish  into  Egypt  has  been  declared  illegal  by 
Khedival  legislation,  the  drug  is  always  to  be  ob- 
tained in  the  lower  dives  of  Alexandria,  Cairo  and 
Port  Said — if  one  only  knows  where  to  go  and  how 
to  ask  for  it.  Manufactured  in  certain  islands  of 
the  Grecian  Archipelago,  it  is  mysteriously  exported 
under  the  very  noses  of  complaisant  authorities  and, 
eluding  the  rigour  of  Egyptian  customs,  as  well 
as  the  vigilance  of  Egyptian  spies,  finds  its  way 
to  the  fellaheen — among  other  avid  consumers ; 
speaking  baldly,  is  smuggled  into  the  land.  All  of 
which  is,  of  course,  very  annoying  to  the  authorities,, 
besides  being  excessively  sinful.  The  vitality  of  this 
lawless  trade  is  really  shocking,  and  very  unpleasant 
penalties  have  been  provided  for  those  caught  in  the 
act  of  engaging  in  it.  Customs  inspections,  fur- 
thermore, are  as  severe  as  might  be  expected  by 
anyone  acquainted  with  the  country  and  its  inhabi- 
tants— as  was  O'Rourke. 

He  felt,  then,  no  sort  of  surprise  at  the  brevity  of 
the  official  visitation.     The  minutes  might  well  have 

151 


153  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

seemed  long  to  him  who  lay  there,  motionless,  hardly 
daring  to  breathe,  in  momentary  danger  of  assassina- 
tion, and  with  a  splitting  headache  into  the  bargain ; 
but  they  dragged  by  no  means  as  tediously  as  they 
might,  for,  heedless  to  his  pain  and  a  swelling  the 
size  of  an  egg  which  was  becoming  prominent  just 
behind  his  ear,  he  was  contemplating  vengeance, 
actively  formulating  schemes  involving  reprisals.  So 
it  seemed  to  him  that  not  ten  minutes  elapsed  be- 
tween the  arrival  of  the  customs  inspector  and  the 
time  of  his  departure  over  the  side.  Separating  the 
two  events  there  was  a  hurried  visit  to  the  saloon, 
where  the  lamps  were  lighted  and  from  which  the 
clinking  of  glasses  could  be  heard,  together  with  an- 
other clinking  which  O'Rourke  shrewdly  surmised  to 
be  caused  by  the  contact  of  coined  gold  with  coined 
gold.  Emerging,  the  inspector,  accompanied  by  an 
excessively  urbane  and  suave  Captain  Hole,  con- 
scientiously but  briefly  glanced  into  the  hold,  asked  a 
few  questions  which  would  have  been  pertinent  had 
they  not  been  entirely  perfunctory,  and  took  his 
leave. 

From  the  gangway  the  captain  turned  back  di- 
rectly to  his  first  officer  and  the  latter's  charge. 
Hearing  his  approaching  footsteps,  O'Rourke  gath- 
ered himself  together  and  summoned  all  his  faculties 
to  his  aid. 

"  Troublesome  ?  "  demanded  Hole,  pausing. 

"Not  a  syllable,"  said  the  mate.     "  Th'  mon's 


CHAPTER   FIFTEEN  153 

sensible.  I  ha'e  me  doubts  but  he's  too  canny  alte- 
gither." 

"  Peaceful  as  a  byby,  eh?  Well,"  savagely,  "  Vll 
learn  wot  for.  Get  up,  you  Irish " 

O'Rourke  lay  passive  under  the  storm  of  Hole's 
profanity.  He  had  all  but  closed  his  eyes  and  was 
watching  the  pair  from  beneath  his  lashes. 

Failing  to  elicit  any  response,  "  'Asn't  *e  moved?  " 
demanded  the  captain. 

"  Not  a  muscle " 

"  Shammin' !     'Ere,  I'll  show  »im." 

O'Rourke  gritted  his  teeth  and  suppressed  a  groan 
as  the  toe  of  Hole's  heavy  boot  crashed  into  his  ribs. 
He  fancied  that  a  rib  snapped;  he  knew  better,  but 
the  pain  was  exquisite.  But  he  made  no  sound.  It 
was  his  only  hope,  to  deceive  and  throw  them  off 
their  guard  by  feigning  unconsciousness. 

"  Th'  mon's  nae  shamming,"  Dennison  declared. 
"  He's  fair  fainted." 

"  Fainted  hell ! "  countered  the  captain  rudely. 
"  Give  'is  arm  a  twist,  Dennison." 

The  mate  calmly  disobeyed.  The  arm-twist  de- 
sired by  the  captain  requires  the  use  of  the  twister's 
two  hands,  and  stoutly  as  he  defended  his  opinion, 
the  first  officer  was  by  no  means  ready  to  put  up  his 
revolver. 

He  advanced  and  bent  over  the  Irishman,  who 
lay  motionless,  his  upper  lip  rolled  back  to  show  his 
clenched  teeth.  "  Heugh!  "  exclaimed  the  first  offi- 


154  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

cer,  peering  into  his  face,  his  tone  expressive  of  the 
liveliest  concern.  Without  further  hesitation  he 
dropped  the  revolver  into  his  pocket  and — received 
a  tremendous  short-arm  blow  in  the  face. 

With  a  stifled  cry  he  fell  back,  clutching  at  a 
broken  nose,  and  sprawled  at  length ;  while  O'Rourke, 
leaping  to  his  feet,  deliberately  put  a  heel  into  the 
pit  of  Dennison's  stomach,  thereby  effectually  elim- 
inating him  as  a  factor  in  the  further  contro- 
versy. Simultaneously  he  advanced  upon  Captain 
Hole. 

But  in  the  latter  he  encountered  no  mean  antago- 
nist. The  man — it  has  been  said — was  as  tall  and 
heavier  than  the  adventurer,  and  by  virtue  of  his 
position  a  competent  and  experienced  rough-and- 
ready  fighter.  In  a  breath  he  had  lowered  his  head 
and,  bellowing  like  a  bull,  launched  himself  toward 
O'Rourke. 

The  Irishman  met  the  onslaught  with  a  stinging 
uppercut;  which,  nevertheless,  failed  to  discourage 
the  captain,  who  grappled  and  began  to  belabour 
O'Rourke  with  short,  stabbing  blows  on  the  side  of 
the  head,  at  the  same  time  endeavouring  to  trip  him. 
The  fury  of  his  onset  all  but  carried  the  Irishman  off 
his  feet.  At  the  same  time  it  defeated  Hole's  own 
purpose.  O'Rourke  watched  his  chance,  seized  the 
man's  throat  with  both  hands  and,  tightening  his 
grip,  fairly  lifted  him  off  his  feet  and  shook  him  as 
a  terrier  shakes  a  rat.  Then,  with  a  grUnt  of  satis- 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN  155 

faction,  he  threw  the  captain  from  him  and  turned 
to  face  greater  odds. 

The  noise  of  the  conflict  had  brought  the  crew 
down  upon  the  contestants.  It  is  safe  to  say  that 
they  held  neither  of  their  officers  in  great  love,  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  ship-board  discipline  is  a  strangely 
potent  thing.  Unhappily  the  adventurer  had  neg- 
lected to  shake  the  last  flutter  of  breath  out  of  Hole's 
carcass  and  even  as  the  latter  fell  he  barked  an  order 
to  the  crew.  Inarticulate  though  it  was,  they  inter- 
preted it  readily,  and  closed  in  upon  the  Irishman 
without  delay.  Surrounded,  he  was  rushed  to  the 
rail.  With  that  to  his  back  he  drew  on  his  reserve 
of  strength  and,  poising  himself,  began  to  give  his 
assailants  personal  and  individual  attention.  They 
pushed  him  close,  snarling  and  cursing,  hindering  one 
another  in  their  eagerness,  and  suffering  variously 
for  their  temerity.  O'Rourke  fought  with  trained 
precision ;  his  blows,  lightning  quick,  were  direct  from 
the  shoulder  and  very  finely  placed ;  and  so  straight 
did  he  strike  that  almost  from  the  first  his  knuckles 
were  torn  and  bleeding  from  their  impact  upon  flesh 
and  bone. 

Fight  as  fiercely  as  he  might,  however,  the  pack 
was  too  heavy  for  him;  and  when  presently  he  dis- 
cerned, not  in  one  but  in  half  a  dozen  hands,  gleams 
of  light — the  rays  of  a  near-by  lantern  running  down 
knife-blades — he  conceded  the  moment  imminent  when 
he  must  sever  his  connection  with  the  Pelican. 


156  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

Moreover,  he  had  a  shrewd  suspicion  that  Hole  was 
up  and  only  waiting  for  an  opening  to  use  his  re- 
volver. 

It  was  hard  to  leave  such  a  beautiful  fight,  and 
sorry  was  he  to  feel  compelled  to  do  so.  But  needs 
must  when  a  Greek  on  one  side,  an  Italian  on  the 
other,  and  a  Cockney  before  you,  drive  at  you  with 
knives.  Leaping  to  the  rail,  he  poised  an  instant, 
then  dived  far  out  from  the  vessel's  side,  down  into 
the  Stygian  blackness  of  the  harbour  water:  a  good 
clean  dive,  cutting  the  water  with  hardly  a  splash, 
he  went  down  like  an  arrow,  gradually  swerving 
from  the  straight  line  of  his  flight  into  a  long  arc — 
so  long,  indeed,  that  he  was  well-nigh  breathless  when 
he  came  to  the  surface,  a  dozen  yards  or  more  from 
the  Pelican. 

Spitting  out  the  foul  harbour  water,  and  with  a 
swift  glance  over  his  shoulder  that  showed  him  the 
Pelican's  dark  freeboard  like  a  wall,  and  a  cluster 
of  dark  shapes  hanging  over  the  rail  at  the  top 
vaguely  revealed  by  lantern  light,  he  struck  out  for 
the  nearest  vessel,  employing  the  double  overhand 
stroke,  noisy  but  speedy. 

That  he  heard  no  cry  when  he  came  to  the  surface, 
that  Hole  had  not  detected  him  by  the  phosphores- 
cence, and  that  he  had  held  his  hand  from  firing,  at 
first  puzzled  O'Rourke;  but  he  reasoned  that  Hole 
probably  feared  to  raise  an  alarm  and  thereby  at- 
tract much  undesirable  attention  to  Himself  and  his 


CHAPTER   FIFTEEN  157 

ship.  In  the  course  of  the  first  few  strokes,  how- 
ever, he  managed  to  peep  again  over  his  shoulder, 
and  from  the  activity  on  the  Pelican's  decks  concluded 
that  he  was  to  be  pursued  by  boat ;  which,  in  fact, 
proved  to  be  the  case. 

Fortunately  the  Pelican  rode  at  anchor  in  waters 
studded  thick  with  other  vessels,  affording  plenty 
of  hiding  places  on  a  night  as  black  as  that.  The 
adventurer  made  direct  for  the  first  vessel,  swam 
completely  around  it,  and  by  the  time  the  Pelican's 
boat  was  afloat  and  its  rowers  bending  to  the  oars, 
he  was  supporting  himself  by  a  hand  upon  the  un- 
known ship's  cable,  floating  on  his  back  with  only 
his  face  out  of  water. 

Under  these  conditions,  it  was  small  wonder  that 
the  boat  missed  him  so  completely.  He  saw  it  shoot 
by  two  cable-lengths'  away,  and  disappear  in  the 
confusion  of  shipping,  not  to  return. 

At  length  rested,  the  Irishman  released  his  hold 
and  struck  out  for  land  at  an  easy  pace.  What 
little  clothing  he  wore  was  no  great  weight  upon 
him,  and  O'Rourke  was  a  strong  swimmer.  But  the 
lights  seemed  far,  viewed  from  the  very  level  of  the 
water,  and  the  hot  khamsin  threw  little  waves  directly 
in  the  swimmer's  face  to  blind  and  confuse  him. 
Fearful  of  exhausting  his  powers  by  too  frantic  en- 
deavour to  reach  the  waterfront  in  the  shortest  possi- 
ble space  of  time,  he  swam  on  at  a  leisurely  rate, 
but  steadily. 


158  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

Presently  he  struck  a  little  current  that  bore  him 
gently  inshore,  measurably  lightening  his  labours. 
The  lights  of  anchored  shipping  together  with 
those  from  the  Marina  (Alexandria's  waterfront) 
streaked  toward  him  across  the  waters  like  broken 
but  radiant  ribbons  of  many  hues.  Twice,  wearied, 
O'Rourke  paused  to  rest  as  before.  But  he  had  now 
little  fear  of  being  apprehended;  Hole  had  all  the 
wide  waterfront  to  search  and  the  chances  that  he 
and  O'Rourke  would  select  the  same  spot  to  land 
were  a  hundred  to  one  against.  For  that  matter,  by 
this  time  the  adventurer  himself  had  entirely  lost 
track  of  the  Pelican's  boat. 

Eventually  he  gained  the  end  of  a  quay,  upon 
which  he  drew  himself  for  a  last  rest  and  to  let  his 
dripping  garments  drain  a  bit  ere  venturing  abroad 
in  the  streets. 

Not  until  then,  strangely  enough,  did  it  come 
to  him  with  its  full  force,  how  he  had  been  tricked 
and  played  upon  from  the  very  beginning.  And  he 
swore  bitterly  when  he  contemplated  his  present  posi- 
tion of  a  penniless  outcast  in  a  city  almost  wholly 
strange  to  him,  without  friends  (save  indeed,  Danny 
— wherever  he  might  be),  without  a  place  to  lay  his 
head,  lacking  even  a  change  of  clothing.  His  kit- 
box  was  aboard  the  Pelican  and  likely  to  remain 
there,  for  all  he  could  do  to  the  contrary;  in  his 
present  state,  to  apply  to  the  authorities  or  to  at- 
tempt to  lodge  a  complaint  against  Captain  Hole 


CHAPTER   FIFTEEN  159 

would  more  likely  than  not  result  in  incarceration 
on  a  charge  of  vagrancy  more  real  than  technical. 

And — the  Pool  of  Flame!  He  fumed  with  impo- 
tent rage  when  he  saw  how  blindly  he  had  stum- 
bled into  Hole's  trap,  how  neatly  he  had  permitted 
himself  to  be  raped  of  the  jewel.  For  in  the  light  of 
late  events  he  could  not  doubt  but  that  Hole  had 
sought  him  out  armed  with  the  knowledge  that 
O'Rourke  was  in  possession  of  the  priceless  jewel — 
more  than  probably  advised  and  employed  by  Des 
Trebes :  assuming  that  he  had  failed  to  inflict  a  mor- 
tal wound  upon  that  adventurer. 

"  Aw,  the  divvle,  the  divvle ! "  complained 
O'Rourke.  "  Sure,  and  'tis  a  pretty  mess  I've  made 
of  it  all,  now !  " 

Saying  which  he  rose  and  clambered  to  the  top 
of  the  quay — with  the  more  haste  than  good  will 
in  view  of  the  fact  that  to  a  splashing  of  oars,  the 
dimly  outlined  shape  of  a  boat  heading  directly  for 
his  refuge,  had  suddenly  become  visible.  Of  course, 
it  might  not  be  the  boat  from  the  Pelican;  but 
O'Rourke  was  too  thoroughly  impressed  with  the  con- 
viction that  the  laws  of  coincidence  were  working 
against  him,  just  then  at  any  rate,  to  be  willing  to 
run  unnecessary  risks. 

Chance,  too,  would  have  it  that  there  should  be  an 
arc-light  ablaze  precisely  at  the  foot  of  the  pier, 
beneath  which  stood,  clearly  defined  in  the  white 
glare,  the  figure  of  a  hulking  black  native  represent- 


160  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

ative  of  the  municipal  police,  whom  O'Rourke  must 
pass  ere  he  could  gain  solid  earth. 

For  this  reason  he  dared  not  betray  evidences  of 
haste;  his  appearance  was  striking  enough  in  all 
conscience,  without  any  additional  touches.  So  he 
thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  sauntered  with 
a  well-assumed  but  perhaps  not  wholly  convincing 
air  of  nonchalance  towards  the  officer. 

The  latter  remained  all  unsuspicious  until — and 
then  the  mischief  of  it  was  that  O'Rourke  was  still  a 
full  five  yards  the  wrong  side  of  the  man — Hole  him- 
self leaped  from  the  boat  upon  the  end  of  the  quay 
and  sent  a  yell  echoing  after  the  fugitive. 

"  Hey !  "  he  roared.  "  Stop  'im !  Deserter ! 
Thief!  Stop  thief!" 

The  black  was  facing  O'Rourke  in  an  instant, 
but  simultaneously  the  Irishman  was  upon  him  and 
had  put  an  elbow  smartly  into  his  midriff  in  passing, 
all  but  toppling  the  man  backwards  into  the  harbour. 

It  had  been  well  for  him  had  he  succeeded.  As  it 
was  the  fellow  saved  himself  by  a  hair's  breadth  and 
the  next  minute  was  after  O'Rourke,  yelling  madly. 

The  Irishman  showed  a  fleet  pair  of  heels,  be  sure ; 
but,  undoubtedly,  the  devil  himself  was  in  the  luck 
that  night!  Who  shall  describe  in  what  manner  a 
rabble  springs  out  of  the  very  cobbles  of  Alexan- 
dria's streets?  Men,  women,  naked  children  and 
yapping  pariah  dogs,  fellaheen,  Arabs,  Bedouins 
from  the  desert,  Nubians,  Greeks,  Levantines — the 


CHAPTER   FIFTEEN  161 

fugitive  had  not  covered  two-score  yards  ere  a  mob 
of  such  composition  was  snapping  at  his  calves. 

Turning  and  twisting,  dodging  and  doubling,  smit- 
ing this  gratuitous  enemy  full  in  the  face,  treating 
the  next  as  he  had  the  limb  of  the  law  (and  leaving 
both  howling) ,  he  seized  the  first  opening  and  swung 
into  a  narrow  back-way,  leading  inland  from  the 
waterfront,  black  as  an  Egyptian  night  and  full  of 
unexpected  pitfalls  and  obstacles  in  the  shape  of 
heaps  of  rubbish  and  filth  in  the  roadway.  And  the 
man-pack  streamed  after  him,  crying  the  alarm  ahead 
and  complimenting  their  quarry  in  a  dozen  tongues 
and  a  hundred  dialects. 

He  ran  as  seldom  he  had  run  before,  straining  and 
labouring,  stumbling,  recovering  and  plunging  on- 
ward. And,  by  the  gods,  wasn't  it  hot !  The  kham- 
sin raved  and  tore  like  a  spirit  of  hell-fire  through 
that  narrow  alley,  turning  it  into  a  miniature  in- 
ferno. With  this  improvement:  that,  whereas  we 
are  not  advised  that  the  nether  pit  is  equipped  with 
stenches,  here  there  were  smells  more  potent  and  evil 
than  ever  human  nose  had  inhaled  elsewhere — smells 
veritably  fit  to  knock  you  down  and  stifle  you  to 
death :  ancient  and  hoary  smells  which  doubtless  had 
a  deal  to  do  with  driving  the  Chosen  People  to  strike 
off  the  bonds  of  slavery  and  emigrate  to  the  Land  of 
Promise. 

Through  this  unsavory  and  sweltering  hole 
O'Rourke  panted  on,  temples  throbbing,  the  heart 


162  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

hammering  in  his  breast  like  a  piece  of  clock-work 
gone  mad,  sweat  pouring  from  him  in  showers — to 
such  an  alarming  extent,  he  says,  that  he  was  per- 
suaded that  the  ultimate  outcome  of  it  all  would  be 
a  pool  of  moisture  on  the  cobbles,  the  remains  of 
him  who  had  been  Terence  O'Rourke. 

But,  in  the  course  of  some  minutes,  the  end  of  the 
tunnel  came  in  view:  a  lighted  rift  between  house 
walls,  giving  upon  the  illuminated  street  beyond. 
The  sight  brought  forth  a  fresh  burst  of  speed  from 
O'Rourke.  He  dashed  madly  out  of  the  alley,  stum- 
bled and  ran  headlong  into  a  strolling  Greek,  who 
grappled  with  him,  at  first  in  surprise  and  then  in 
resentment,  while  the  clamour  of  the  pursuing  rabble 
shrilled  loud  and  near  and  ever  nearer. 

Exhausted  as  he  was,  the  Irishman  struggled  with 
little  skill  before  he  mastered  his  own  surprise;  and 
in  the  end  saw  his  -finis  written  along  the  blade  of  a 
thin,  keen  knife  which  the  Greek  had  whipped  from 
the  folds  of  his  garments  and  jerked  threateningly 
above  his  head. 

It  was  falling  when  O'Rourke  saw  it.  In  another 
breath  he  had  been  stabbed.  Unexpectedly  the 
Greek  shrieked,  dropped  the  knife  as  though  it  had 
turned  suddenly  white-hot  in  his  hands,  and  leapt 
back  from  O'Rourke,  nursing  a  broken  wrist;  while 
a  voice  as  sweet  as  the  singing  of  angels  rang  in 
the  fugitive's  ears,  though  the  spirit  of  its  melody 
was  simple  and  crude  enough. 


CHAPTER   FIFTEEN  163 

"  O'Rourke,  be  all  th'  powers !  The  masther  him- 
self !  Glory,  ye  beggar,  'tis  sorry  I  am  that  I  didn't 
split  the  ugly  face  of  ye  wid  me  sthick !  .  .  .  This 
way,  yer  honour !  Come  wid  me !  " 

Blindly  enough  (indeed  the  world  was  all  awhirl 
about  him)  O'Rourke,  his  arm  grasped  by  a  strong 
and  confident  hand,  permitted  himself  to  be  swung 
to  the  right  and  across  the  street.  In  a  thought 
blackness  again  was  all  about  him,  but  the  hand 
gripped  still  his  arm,  hurrying  him  onwards; 
and  he  yielded  blindly  to  its  guidance — without 
power,  for  that  matter,  to  question  or  to  object; 
what  breath  he  had  he  sorely  needed.  And  as  blindly 
he  stumbled  on  for  perhaps  another  hundred  yards, 
while  the  voice  of  the  rabble  made  hideous  the  night 
behind  them.  Hardly,  indeed,  had  the  two  whipped 
into  the  mouth  of  the  back-way  ere  it  was  choked 
by  a  swarm  of  pursuers.  But — "  Niver  fear !  "  said 
the  voice  at  his  side.  "  'Tis  ourselves  that'll  outwit 
them.  .  .  .  Here,  now,  yer  honour,  do  ye  go 
straight  on  widout  sthoppin'  ontil  ye  come  to  an 
iron  dure  in  a  dead  wall  at  the  end  av  this.  Knock 
there  wance,  count  tin,  and  knock  again.  I'll  lead 
'em  away  and  be  wid  ye  again  in  a  brace  av 
shakes ! " 

Benumbed  by  fatigue  and  exhaustion,  O'Rourke 
obeyed.  He  was  aware  that  his  preserver  with  a 
wild  whoop  had  darted  aside  into  a  cross-alley,  but 
hardly  aware  of  more.  Mechanically  he  blundered 


164  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

on  until  brought  up  by  a  wall  that  closed  and  made 
a  cul-de-sac  of  the  way. 

With  trembling  hands  he  felt  before  him,  fingers 
encountering  the  smooth,  cool  surface  of  a  sheet  of 
metal.  This,  then,  was  the  door.  As  carefully  as 
he  could  he  knocked,  counted  ten,  and  knocked  again 
— while  the  mob  that  had  lusted  for  his  blood  trailed 
off  down  the  side  alley  in  frantic  pursuit  of  his  gen- 
erous preserver.  And  he  heard,  with  a  smile,  the 
latter's  shrill  defiant  Irish  yells  luring  them  further 
upon  the  false  scent. 

"  If  'tis  not  Danny,"  gasped  the  adventurer, 
"then  myself 's  not  the  O'Rourke!  Bless  the  lad!  " 

But  as  he  breathed  this  benediction  the  iron  door 
swung  inwards  and  he  stumbled  across  the  threshold, 
half  fainting,  hardly  conscious  that  he  had  done 
more  than  pass  from  open  night  to  the  night  of  an 
enclosed  space.  His  foot  caught  on  some  obstruc- 
tion and  he  went  to  his  knees  with  a  cry  that  was 
a  cross  between  a  sob  and  a  groan;  and  inconti- 
nently fell  full  length  upon  an  earthen  floor,  his  head 
pillowed  on  his  arm,  panting  as  if  his  heart  would 
break. 

In  the  darkness  above  him  someone  cried  aloud,  a 
startled  cry,  and  then  the  door  was  thrust  to  with  a 
clang  and  rattle  of  bolts.  A  match  rasped  loudly 
and  a  flicker  of  light  leaped  from  a  small  hand-lamp 
and  revealed  to  its  bearer  the  fagged  and  quivering 
figure  on  the  floor. 


CHAPTER   FIFTEEN  165 

Someone  sat  down  beside  him  with  a  low  exclama- 
tion of  solicitude  and  gathered  his  head  into  her  lap. 
Someone  quite  simply  enfolded  his  neck  with  soft 
arms  and  pressed  his  head  to  her  bosom,  and  as  if 
that  were  not  enough  kissed  him  full  and  long  upon 
his  lips. 

"  My  dear !  My  dear !  "  she  murmured  in  French. 
"What  has  happened,  O,  what  has  happened?  My 
poor,  poor  boy !  " 

Now  the  integral  madness  of  all  this  was  as 
effectual  in  restoring  O'Rourke  to  partial  conscious- 
ness as  had  been  a  douche  of  cold  water  in  his  face. 
Blankly  he  told  himself  that  he  was  damned,  and 
that  it  was  all  a  dream.  And  yet,  when  he  looked, 
it  was  to  see,  dim  in  the  feeble  glimmer  of  the  lamp, 
the  face  of  a  woman  as  beautiful  as  young,  as  young 
as  beautiful. 

One  glance  was  enough.  O'Rourke  shut  his  eyes 
again.  "  If  I  look  too  long,"  he  assured  himself, 
"  she'll  vanish  or — or  turn  into  a  fiend.  Sure,  'tis  a 
judgment  upon  me !  Too  long  have  I  been  an  amor- 
ous dram-drinker;  this  will  undoubtedly  be  the  delir- 
ium-tremens  of  love !  " 

And  with  that  he  passed  quietly  into  temporary 
unconsciousness. 


CHAPTER 
SIXTEEN 

HE  opened  his  eyes  again,  alone  on  the  cool,  damp, 
earthen  floor,  but  assured  that  the  feminine  element 
in  his  adventure  had  been  no  hallucination,  after  all ; 
for  he  could  see  the  girl  standing  a  little  to  one  side 
and  looking  down  upon  him,  her  face  so  deep  in 
shadow  that  he  could  gather  nothing  from  its  ex- 
pression, whether  it  were  of  displeasure  or  of  perplex- 
ity. From  this  and  that,  however,  he  deduced  that 
she,  discovering  herself  lavishing  endearments  on  the 
wrong  man,  was  not  utterly  delighted  with  the  situ- 
ation. The  circumstances  taken  into  consideration, 
such  a  state  of  mind  he  thought  not  unreasonable; 
and  being  now  to  some  extent  recovered,  he  saw  no 
profit  in  making  her  suffer  more.  So  with  a  show  of 
faintness  not  wholly  assumed,  he  rolled  his  head  to 
one  side,  opened  wide  his  eyes  and  looked  the  woman 
in  the  face,  inquiring  with  his  faint,  thin  brogue: 
"  What's  this,  now,  me  dear?  " 

The  girl's  face  darkened.  She  shook  her  head  im- 
patiently. "  I  have  no  English,"  she  told  him  in  ex- 
cellent French.  "  Who  are  you?  Why  do  you  come 
here?  You  are  not  Danny!" 

166 


CHAPTER    SIXTEEN  167 

"  Oho !  "  commented  O'Rourke  knowingly,  "  and 
that's  the  explanation,  is  it  ?"  He  sat  up,  embracing 
his  knees  and  drawing  a  rueful  face.  "  Faith,  me 
dear,"  he  admitted,  "  I  concede  ye  the  best  of  the 
argument,  thus  far.  I  am  not  Danny — 'tis  true  as 
Gospel." 

She  frowned.  "  Then  what  are  you  doing  here, 
monsieur?  How  did  you  learn — who  told  you — the 
signal?  " 

"  Faith,  from  no  less  a  person  than  Danny  Ma- 
hone  himself.  He  showed  me  the  way  and  bade  me 
knock — but  niver  a  word  said  he  of  yourself,  me 
dear."  He  smiled  engagingly,  then  knitted  his 
brows  in  thought,  passing  a  hand  across  his  eyes  as 
if  endeavouring  to  concentrate  upon  the  vague  and 
obscure.  ..."  And  then,"  he  announced  dream- 
ily, "  the  door  opened  and — somehow — I  fell  into 
a  pit  of  blackness,  in  which  me  own  light  went  out 
like  a  tallow  dip.  .  .  .  Tell  me,  if  ye'll  be  so 
good,  have  I  been  here  long?  " 

"  Monsieur  does  not  recall  that  I  admitted  him  ?  " 
she  persisted,  but  with  a  lightening  face,  "  nor 
anything  that  happened  thereafter?  " 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world.  What  did  happen, 
now  ?  " 

But  she  flanked  that  embarrassing  question 
adroitly,  evidently  much  relieved  by  O'Rourke's  re- 
assurance. Which  was  just  what  he  wished  her 
frame  of  mind  to  be.  "  Nothing  that  matters,"  she 


168  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

replied,  continuing  to  employ  the  French  tongue, 
and  that  very  prettily,  with  a  fetching  little  accent. 
"  I  think  you  fainted.  Then — but  you  know,  my 
Danny?" 

"  Your  Danny ! "  said  O'Rourke,  his  mood  quiz- 
zical. "  None  better,  me  dear.  I've  known  him 
since  he  was  so  high,  or  thereabouts."  And  he  held 
a  palm  some  six  inches  or  so  above  the  floor. 

"  And  he — he  brought  you  here  ?  " 

"  Who  else  ?  How  else  would  I  be  knowing  the 
signal?  Ye  see,  there  was  a  bit  of  a  shindig  down 
the  street  and  me  in  the  middle  thereof  and  getting 
all  the  worst  of  it — if  ye  must  know — when  along 
comes  Danny  and  lends  a  hand  and  whips  me  off 
here  and  says  he'll  be  back  in  a  moment.  He'll  tell 
ye  the  details  himself;  but  I" — he  eyed  her  quiz- 
zically— "  would  now  ask  ye  to  overlook  the  uncere- 
monious manner  of  me  entrance  and  a  certain  lack 
of  dignity  as  to  me  attire,  which  I  beg  ye  to  believe 
is  not  me  ordinary  evening  dress,  and — and  faith! 
me  throat  is  baked  dry  entirely,  if  me  clothes  are  not. 
May  I  ask  for  a  drink  at  mademoiselle's  fair 
hands?" 

He  was  on  his  feet  now  and  enjoying  the  situation 
hugely.  "  And  'tis  the  Irish  eye  for  beauty  Danny 
has !  "  he  told  himself.  "  I  commend  his  taste,  the 
rogue ! " 

For  the  girl  was  exceedingly  fair  to  see:  slender 
and  straight  and  girlish  and  sweet;  a  Greek,  if  he 
were  to  judge  of  her  features  and  her  dress,  and  in 


CHAPTER    SIXTEEN  169 

that  odd  light,  with  perturbation  in  her  pose,  a  smile 
half-perplexed  trembling  on  her  lips  (because  of 
O'Rourke's  conceit)  and  the  shadow  of  anxiety  cloud- 
ing her  eyes,  she  made  a  charming  picture  indeed. 

She  was  quick  to  grant  his  request.  "  Danny  will 
•explain,"  she  agreed  with  conviction.  "This  way, 
then,  if  you  please,  monsieur,  and  " — as  they  passed 
through  a  low  doorway — "  if  you  will  have  the  pa- 
tience to  wait  here,  I  will  fetch  wine." 

She  smiled  enchantingly,  dropped  him  a  bewitch- 
ing little  courtesy  with  a  deference  evoked,  no  doubt, 
by  the  man's  subtle  yet  ineradicable  air  of  distinc- 
tion, and  left  him  wholly  captivated.  "  Bless  her 
heart  and  pretty  face !  "  he  murmured,  eyeing  her  re- 
treating figure.  "  'Tis  Danny  who's  the  lucky  dog 
not  that  he's  not  deserving.  .  .  ." 

He  reviewed  his  refuge  summarily,  discovering 
that  he  stood  in  one  corner  of  a  small  courtyard,  the 
centre  of  a  hollow  cube  of  masonry:  a  dwelling  of 
two  storeys,  round  whose  upper  floor  ran  an  inner 
gallery  to  which  steps  led  up  from  the  court  and 
from  which  access  was  to  be  had  to  the  living  rooms 
— all  dark  and  silent  Across  the  open  space  on  the 
ground  floor,  two  windows  without  glass  were  alight ; 
but  that  was  all,  and  their  feeble  glow  served  to  il- 
luminate the  yard  scarcely  more  than  the  softer, 
clearer  light  of  the  stars  hanging  low  in  the  square 
of  purple  velvet  sky  above  the  flat  roof. 

In  the  centre  of  the  courtyard  a  little  fountain 
tinkled,  a  tiny  jet  of  water  rising  from  the  central 


170  THE    POOL   OF   FLAME 

upright  of  stone  to  spray  the  black,  star-smitten 
pool  beneath.  There  was  a  little  plot  of  grass,  like- 
wise, with  flowers  generous  of  their  cordial  perfume. 
If  overhead  the  withering  khamsin  raved,  here  at 
least  was  peace  and  quiet  and  an  effect  of  serene 
things  strong  enough  to  make  a  weary,  overwrought 
man  rest  himself  upon  a  stone  seat,  clasp  his  head  in 
his  hands  and  question  the  events  of  the  past  few 
hours,  whether  they  were  not  after  all  but  nightmare, 
and  this  alone  reality. 

But  they  were  vivid  enough  in  his  memory ;  and 
O'Rourke  was  steadily  and  methodically,  if  in  un- 
dertones, cursing  Hole  and  Dennison,  the  Pelican 
and  all  her  crew,  when  the  girl  came  silently  out  from 
the  shadows  beneath  the  gallery,  bringing  him  a  cup 
and  a  jar  of  earthenware  brimming  with  wine. 

He  accepted  the  service  with  a  bow.  "  Mademoi- 
selle is  as  kind  as  she  is  beautiful !  "  said  he,  and  with 
the  appreciation  of  a  connoisseur  first  watched  her 
blush,  then  drained  the  jug  to  its  last  drop  and  felt 
the  grateful  fluid  grapple  with  his  fatigue,  temper  it, 
and  send  new  strength  leaping  through  his  veins. 
"  And  as  good,  I'm  sure,  as  she  is  kind,"  he  added ; 
and  "  Ah ! "  he  sighed,  resuming  his  seat  but  rising 
again,  and  quickly,  as  a  second  summons  clanged 
upon  the  iron  door  and  sent  the  girl  flying  towards 
the  rear  of  the  house. 

"  That  will  be  Danny,  now,"  O'Rourke  opined  as 
she  swept  past  him. 


CHAPTER    SIXTEEN  171 

She  murmured  a  response  he  did  not  clearly  catch. 
"What's  that?"  he  called  after- her. 

"  Or  possibly,"  she  repeated,  pausing  at  the  en- 
trance to'  the  rear  chamber,  "  it  may  be  Monsieur 
the  Captain  Hole !  " 

"  The  divvle !  "  cried  O'Rourke,  and  was  on  his 
feet  in  a  twinkling,  casting  about  him  for  a  weapon. 
"  That  can't  be " 

Nothing  offered  itself  suitable  either  for  offence 
or  defence,  save  and  except  the  jug  he  had  been 
drinking  from,  and  the  Irishman  was  weighing  this 
thoughtfully  with  a  definite  intention  of  hurling  it 
at  Captain  Hole's  head,  if  indeed  he  had  heard 
aright,  when  the  entrance  of  quite  another  person 
relieved  his  mind,  however  temporarily. 

It  was  Danny,  plainly  enough:  Danny,  the  same 
as  of  old,  with  his  half-sheepish,  half-impudent  grin 
and  his  shock  of  naming  hair,  his  upper  lip  that  was 
long  even  for  an  Irish  boy's,  his  roving  and  twin- 
kling blue  eyes,  his  tip-tilted  nose,  his  short,  sturdy 
physique. 

"  Faith,"  said  O'Rourke,  "  the  gods  are  not  so 
unkind  after  all !  'Tis  as  welcome  as  the  shadow  of 
a  great  rock  in  a  weary  land,  the  sight  of  ye, 
Danny ! "  And  "  Danny !  "  he  observed  with  some 
severity,  "  I'll  ask  ye  to  explain  what  the  divvle  at 
all  ye're  doing  here." 

Danny's  assurance  deserted  him  on  the  instant. 
He  had  done  his  former  master  a  signal  service  that 


172  THE   POOL   OF  FLAME 

night,  but  in  his  estimation  nothing  more  than  was 
due  the  O'Rourke.  Whatever  he  felt,  he  looked  to 
perfection  a  boy  caught  at  mischief — hanging  his 
head  and  eyeing  O'Rourke  under  his  brows,  shame- 
faced and  ill  at  ease. 

"  Aw !  "  he  deprecated,  "  sure,  now,  yer  honour, 
now " 

"  Danny,"  demanded  O'Rourke  sternly,  "  does 
Miss  Cleopatra  here  understand  English?  " 

"  Divvle  a  word ! "  the  ex-valet  protested  earn- 
estly. "  Beyond  Greek  and  French  and  Arabic, 
sure,  she's  ignorant  as  Paddy's  pig!" 

So  much  was  plainly  evident  from  the  girl's 
manner  and  expression  of  puzzlement.  Reassured, 
O'Rourke  proceeded: 

"  'Tis  good  hearing.  Faith,  if  she  understood 
the  King's  English,  'tis  me  hair  she  would  be  tear- 
ing out  by  the  roots  in  one  minute.  Danny,  I  gather 
that  the  lady  is  be  way  of  liking  ye  more  than  ye 
deserve.  Is  it  in  love  with  you  she  is  ?  " 

Danny  stole  a  sidelong  glance  at  the  girl.  "  Beg- 
gin'  yer  honour's  pardon,"  he  stammered,  "  and  I 
belave  she  is  that." 

"  Umm!  "  snorted  O'Rourke.  "  And  what,  if  ye 
please,  about  poor  Annie  Bragin,  at  home?  Is  it 
marrying  a  Greek  ye  would  be,  and  leaving  poor 
Annie  to  cry  her  eyes  out  for  ye,  ye  worthless  scut  ?  " 

"  Divvle  a  bit,  respects  to  yer  honour !  Sure,  'tis 
only  for  amusement " 


CHAPTER    SIXTEEN  173 

"  And  who  may  she  be,  that  ye  make  so  free  to 
amuse  yourself  with  her?  " 

"The  daughter  av  me  partner,  yer  honour,  Noc- 
covie,  the  Greek  tobaccy  merchant." 

"This  will  be  his   house,  then?" 

"  No,  sir,  but  a — a  sort  av  a  sthore-house,  in  a 
way  av  speaking.  'Tis  jist  'round  th'  corner  they 
do  be  livin'  in  a  gran'  foine  house,  sir." 

"  Then  what's   the  young  lady  doing  here?  " 

"  Waitin'  for  me  to  take  her  place,  sir.  Noccovie 
is  away  and — and,"  in  a  blurted  confession,  "  'tis 
a  bit  of  hashish  smuggling  we  do  be  doing  on  the 
side.  The  stuff  is  always  brought  here,  sor ;  and  to- 
night's the  night  a  consignmint's  due." 

"  Ah-h !  "  observed  O'Rourke  darkly.  One  by  one, 
it  seemed,  he  was  gathering  the  trumps  again  into 
his  own  hand.  He  resumed  his  catechism  of  the 
boy. 

"  Danny,  is  this  the  way  a  decent  man  should  be 
behaving  himself?  "  he  browbeat  him.  "  Is  it  your 
mother's  son  and  the  sweetheart  of  Annie  Bragin 
that's  become  no  more  than  an  idle  breaker  of 
hearts?  Danny,  Danny,  what  would  Father  Mal- 
achi  be  saying  if  he  could  hear  what  ye've  just  told 
me?  Whin,  boy,  did  ye  confess  last?" 

Danny  cowered.  "  Aw,  dear ! "  he  whimpered. 
"Aw,  dearie-dear!  And  meself  meant  no  harm  at 
all!" 

"  Thin  take  your  light-o'-love  home,  Danny,  and 


174  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

come  back  to  me  here  at  once  with  a  change  of 
clothes ! " 

"  Yiss,  yer  honour.  I'll  do  that,  yer  honour.  But 
will  ye  hark  for  the  signal  at  the  door  and  let 
Cap'n  Hole  in?" 

It  was  true,  then! 

"  I  will.  But  see  that  ye  don't  forget  the  change 
of  clothes,  Danny,  and  don't  be  lingering  too  long 
over  your  fond  farewells  with  the  lady,  if  ye're  not 
looking  for  a  hiding,  and — Danny ! " 

"Yiss,  sor?" 

"  Have  ye  a  revolver?  " 

"  Here,  sor." 

"Give  it  here,  and  bring  another  back  with  ye. 
Lively,  now ! " 

Alone,  O'Rourke  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of 
the  fountain  and  considered  gravely  the  uncertain- 
ties of  life.  "  'Tis  fate,"  he  concluded  soberly,  at 
length.  "  And  'tis  hard  upon  eleven  now.  They 
will  not  dare  to  run  that  cargo  before  midnight; 
and — meself  sorely  needs  a  bath." 

Deliberately  he  stripped  off  rags  and  tatters  and 
plunged  into  the  fountain.  Danny  was  back  with 
the  promised  wearing  apparel  ere  he  had  finished 
splashing. 

And  while  O'Rourke  dressed,  and  for  long  there- 
after, the  two  sat  and  smoked  and  confabulated, 
talking  of  Men  and  Things  and  the  turn  of  the 
Wheel  of  the  World. 


CHAPTER 
SEVENTEEN 

AT  midnight  the  muezzin  in  a  neighbouring  minaret 
turned  his  face  to  the  windswept  sky  and  summoned 
the  faithful  to  prayer  and  meditation. 

O'Rourke  pulled  thoughtfully  at  his  pipe  until 
the  musical,  melancholy  wail  had  been  whipped 
away  by  the  breath  of  the  khamsin,  and  there  was 
silence  save  for  the  dull,  heavy  roaring  overhead. 
Then  he  resumed  the  conversation  where  it  had  been 
interrupted. 

"  And  ye  say  ye  love  the  young  woman,  Danny  ?  " 

"I  do  that,  yer  honour." 

"  And  ye  would  marry  her?  " 

"  Wid  ye  honour's  consint — I'm  ready,  sor." 

"  But  Danny — about  Annie  Bragin,  now  ?  " 

Danny  squirmed.  "  Sure,  now,  sor  .  .  .  Aw, 
yer  honour  .  .  .  Now  Annie — Annie's " 

"  Take  shame  to  yourself,  Danny,  for  the  gay 
deceiver  that  ye  are." 

1(1  Aw,  yer  honour,"  clucked  Danny  helplessly ; 
and  "  Aw  .  .  ."  said  he  again,  crescendo. 

"  When  did  ye  hear  from  home  last,  Danny  ?  " 

"  Sure    and    that    was    long    ago — a   matter   of 

years " 

175 


176  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

"  And  no  one's  written  to  tell  ye  that  Annie 
Bragin's  married  and  a  mother?  " 

"  Aw ! "  cried  Danny  in  a  rage.  "  'Tis  not  so, 
is  ut?  " 

"'Tis  so— yes." 

The  boy  worked  the  fingers  of  both  hands  together. 
"  And  hersilf  that  promised  me  not  over  tin  years 
ago  to  wait  until  I  made  me  forchune !  Aw 

.     .     .     'Tis  like  a  woman." 

"  Can  ye,  Danny,  pick  a  pin  between  the  two  of 
ye?" 

Danny  gaped.  "  Aw,"  said  he ;  and  was  silent. 
Then,  "'Tis  different,"  he  averred  simply.  "A 
man's  a  man,  as  I  see  ut,  and  if  th'  ladies  fancy  him, 
what  is  he  to  be  doin',  sor?  Now  take  yersilf, 
sor " 

"  On  the  contrary,  we'll  confine  the  argument  to 
the  case  in  hand,"  O'Rourke  interrupted  firmly. 
"  'Tis  different,  entirely  .  .  ."  He  veered  upon 
a  tangent  hastily.  "  Ye  thick-skulled  imp !  "  he  blus- 
tered, "  be  grateful  to  the  woman  that  left  ye  free. 
How  long  is  it  since  ye  were  telling  me  ye  loved 
Mademoiselle  Helen  of  Troy,  here,  with  all  your 
heart,  such  as  it  is,  and  all  your  soul,  if  ye  have 
one,  and  all  your  body — what  that's  worth? — and 
wanted  to  marry  her,  Annie  Bragin  or  no  Annie 
Bragin?" 

"  Aw !  "  exclaimed  Danny  in  rapture.  "  'Tis  true, 
thin!  There's  nothing  to  stop  me.  Sure " 


CHAPTER    SEVENTEEN  177 

"  Have  I  given  me  consent,  ye  scut  ?  " 

"  Aw,  no,"  admitted  the  boy  from  an  abyss  of 
dejection.  "  But,  yer  honour " 

"  Let  be,  Danny.  I  bless  the  banns.  Ye  may 
have  her  on  one  condition." 

"Aw-w?" 

"  I've  need  of  ye,  as  I've  pointed  out " 

"  Sure,  yer  honour  knows  ye  can  count  on  me  to 
the  last  breath  in  me,  sor." 

"  Then  ye'll  come  with  me  to  Burmah?  " 

"  Do  you  think,  sor,  I  could  slape  of  nights, 
after  hearin'  from  yer  own  lips  what  ye've  been 
through,  and  suspectin'  what  more  ye  must  go 
through  with  before  ye've  won?  Will  I  be  comin', 
is  ut?  Faith,  I'll  go  whether  ye  want  me  or 
not." 

"  And  afterwards  ye  can  come  back  to  Miss 
Psyche  here,  or  whatever  her  name  may  be." 

"  Yiss,  yer  honour,  and  thank  ye  kindly." 
Abruptly  Danny  started  up.     "  They'll  be  comin' 
now,   sor,"   he    said   in    an   excited   whisper.      "  I'm 
thinkin'  I  hear  thim  blundhering  down  the  alley." 

He  turned  toward  the  rear  of  the  house,  and 
as  O'Rourke  rose  to  follow  him,  the  signal  sounded 
on  the  metal  door.  Danny  quickened  his  steps,  and 
as  he  disappeared  his  master  slipped  quietly  into  the 
shadows  beneath  the  overhanging  gallery.  From  this 
point  of  seclusion  he  could  hear  distinctly  the  jar  of 
the  bolts  as  Danny  opened  the  iron  door,  followed 


178  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

by   his   hoarse  whisper :      "  Whist !   is   ut   yersilves, 
now?  " 

Hole's  voice  answered  him  huskily :  "  Who  the 
hell  else  would  it  be?  Let  us  in,  you  damn'  harp." 

The  door  creaked  upon  its  hinges ;  and  was  cau- 
tiously closed.  The  bolts  rattled  again.  Footsteps 
shuffled  slowly,  as  of  men  heavily  burdened,  over 
the  floor  of  earth.  Then,  while  O'Rourke  gathered 
himself  together,  exultation  in  his  heart  and  the 
foretaste  of  revenge  sweet  in  his  mouth,  two  cloaked 
figures  scuffled  into  the  courtyard,  breathing  hard 
beneath  their  burdens  of  smuggled  drug. 

Hole  promptly  dumped  his  share  of  the  load  down 
upon  the  bench  and  swung  upon  Danny.  "  Where's 
Niccovie? "  he  demanded,  evidently  in  as  ugly  a 
mood  as  he  could  muster.  "Where  is  'e?  Stop 
standin'  there  and  starin'  with  yer  balmy  trap  open, 
yer " 

"  That  will  be  about  enough,"  suggested  O'Rourke 
pleasantly,  in  a  conversational  tone,  stepping  from 
his  place  of  concealment.  "  Don't  call  names,  Hole 
— ye're  too  near  your  God — if  ye  have  one,  which 
I  misdoubt." 

In  the  clear,  bright  starlight  the  pistols  in  his 
hands  were  plainly  evident ;  and  one  stared  the  cap- 
tain in  the  eye;  one  covered  the  head  of  the  Peli- 
can's first  officer. 

"  Ye  will  not  move ! "  said  O'Rourke  sharply, 
"  save  and  except  to  put  your  hands  above  your 


CHAPTER    SEVENTEEN  179 

heads.  So — don't  delay,  Mr.  Dennison;  I've  never 
known  me  temper  to  be  shorter." 

Hole  began  to  splutter  excitedly.  "  Save  your 
breath,  ye  whelp !  "  O'Rourke  counselled  him  curtly. 
"  Ye'll  have  need  of  it  before  I'm  done  with  ye." 
He  added:  "  Search  and  disarm  them,  Danny." 

The  servant  set  about  his  task  with  alacrity;  it 
is  safe  to  say  that  he  left  not  so  much  as  a  match 
in  the  pocket  of  either.  While  he  was  about  it,  Hole, 
with  his  eyes  steadily  fixed  upon  the  unwavering 
muzzles  of  O'Rourke's  revolvers,  managed  to  master 
his  emotion  enough  to  ask  coherently: 

"  What  are  you  goin'  to  do  with  us  ?  " 

"  Ye'll  see  in  good  time,"  returned  O'Rourke 
grimly.  "  Have  ye  found  it,  Danny  ?  " 

Danny  backed  away  from  Hole,  whom  he  had 
searched  after  Dennison.  "  Yiss,  sor,"  he  returned. 
"  At  least,  I  think  so.  Is  this  ut?  " 

"  I  can't  look  at  the  moment,  Danny.  Is  it  a 
leather  bag  with  something  hard  inside,  the  size 
of  a  hen's  egg,  or  a  bit  larger?  " 

"  The  very  same,  yer  honour." 

"  Very  well,"  O'Rourke  suppressed  the  tremble 
of  relief  in  his  voice.  "  Put  it  in  your  pocket, 
Danny — the  very  bottom  of  your  pocket.  Did  ye 
find  a  gun  on  either  of  them  ?  " 

"  One  on  each,  sor." 

"Loaded?" 

"  Yiss,  sor." 


180  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

"  Then  cover  them,  Danny." 

For  himself  O'Rourke  put  down  his  pistols  and 
calmly  stripped  off  his  coat,  rolling  up  his  sleeves. 

"  Hole,"  he  said  tersely,  "  don't  move.  If  ye 
do,  Danny  will  puncture  ye.  Your  turn  comes 
last.  Dennison,  ye  may  step  out." 

"What  for?"  demanded  the  Scot,  advancing. 

"  To  receive  payment,  with  interest,  for  that  blow 
ye  gave  me  this  evening,  me  man.  Put  up  your 
hands.  I'm  going,  in  your  own  words,  Mr.  Denni- 
son, to  hammer  the  fear  of  God  into  as  cowardly 
and  despicable  a  pair  of  scoundrels  as  I've  ever 
encountered.  And,"  reflectively,  "I've  met  a  good 
many.  But  most  of  the  others  were  Men." 


CHAPTER 
EIGHTEEN 

Two  battered  and  sore  sailormen  sat  back  to  back, 
their  arms  lashed  to  one  another  and  to  the  central 
upright  so  that  neither  could  move,  both  half-sub- 
merged in  the  fountain  of  Niccovie  the  Greek. 

"  Ye'll  find  the  bath  quite  refreshing,"  O'Rourke 
told  them,  preparing  to  depart,  "  as  well  as  a  novel 
experience.  'Twill  do  ye  a  world  of  good, 
Captain  Hole,  as  anyone  will  tell  ye  who  has 
ever  had  the  misfortune  to  stand  too  leeward  of 
ye.  Your  money  and  other  belongings  ye'll  find 
on  the  bench  here,  if  ever  ye  are  loosed,  which  I 
doubt.  I  call  your  attention  to  the  fact  that  I  take 
nothing  but  me  property,  of  which  ye  sought  to 
rob  me.  On  the  other  hand,  because  of  that  at- 
tempted robbery,  I  hereby  refuse  to  pay  my  bill 
for  passage  from  Athens  to  Alexandria.  If  ye  care 
to  dispute  it,  me  solicitors  in  Dublin  will  be  pleased 
to  enter  into  litigation  with  ye.  Gentlemen!  "  he 
bowed  ironically,  "  I  bid  ye  good  night. 

He  was  still  chuckling  over  the  outcome  when, 
twenty  minutes  later,  he  and  Danny  were  trudg- 

181 


182  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

ing  through  the  silent  streets  of  Alexandria,  a  full 
mile  away,  making  for  Danny's  lodgings.  One  of 
the  wanderer's  lips  was  badly  cut  and  swollen,  and 
he  was  sore  bruised  from  head  to  foot;  but  in  his 
pocket  rested  the  Pool  of  Flame,  and  about  his 
mouth  was  wreathed  a  smile  of  ineffable  complacency. 

From  time  to  time  Danny  turned  to  look  up  in 
his  face  with  ever-growing  wonder  and  admiration. 
But,  sure,  wasn't  he  the  O'Rourke?  And  who  iver 
heard  av  anny  ma-an  the  equal  of  the  O'Rourke? 
Danny  wanted  to  know.  He  was  a  proud  and 
happy  Irishman,  Danny;  for  he  had  found  his  mas- 
ter, and  across  his  shoulders  that  master  had  flung 
a  weary  arm,  partly  for  support,  partly  as  a  mark 
of  his  affectionate  regard. 

"  But,  Danny,"  O'Rourke  pursued,  with  just  a 
hint  of  anxiety  in  his  tone,  "  would  ye  happen  to 
be  having  a  bit  of  lining  in  your  pocket,  now — be 
accident,  as  they  say?" 

Danny  drew  himself  up  proudly.  "  Fm  eight- 
hoondred  and  fifty  pounds,  Ay-gyptian,  sor,  and 
two-hundred  av  that  is  yours  be  rights,  bein'  what 
ye  lent  me,  yer  honour,  while  all  the  rist  is  yours  for 
the  taking." 

"That's  fine,  0anny,  fine!"  sighed  O'Rourke. 
"  'Tis  yourself  will  never  regret  investing  it  in  Pool 
of  Flame,  Unlimited.  I'll  personally  guarantee 
the  income  from  it,  Danny." 


CHAPTER    EIGHTEEN  183 

"  Shure,  sor,  don't  /  know?  " 

"  And  in  the  morning,  early,  Danny,  ye  and  I 
will  take  boat  and  go  out  to  the  Pelican  for  me  kit- 
box." 

But  in  the  morning,  as  it  happened,  the  Pelican 
had  discreetly  left  the  harbour. 


THE  sky  was  brazen,  an  inverted  bowl ;  the  sea,  blue 
and  oily,  swelled  and  subsided  in  long,  impercep- 
tible undulations,  reflecting  a  lane  of  garish  brass ; 
the  desert  was  tarnished  brass,  a  glaring  greyish 
yellow,  spotted  with  grey-greenlike  verdegris.  To 
the  south  the  canal  reached,  a  stretch  of  blue,  still, 
motionless,  like  a  streak  of  paint  .  .  . 

In  the  roadstead  were  vessels,  some  apparently 
idle  and  abandoned,  lifeless,  others  again  seeming 
to  strain  at  the  leash — hot  vapour  streaming  from 
their  funnels,  their  decks  crowded,  their  air 
impatient.  In  the  number  of  the  latter  the  Panjnab, 
a  steamer  eastward-bound,  swung  at  anchor  near 
the  entrance  to  the  canal. 

She  was  coaling.  From  the  shore  to  her  sides  flat 
barges  plied,  black,  clumsy,  laden  deep  with  black 
ore,  glittering,  dead.  About  her  they  clustered, 
a  pack  in  leash.  One  after  another  they  were 
swung  in  position  and  held  so  by  straining  cables, 
to  be  invaded  by  an  ant-like  swarm  of  men,  women 
and  children  with  baskets,  themselves  as  black,  well- 
nigh  as  naked,  as  the  stuff  they  handled.  Baskets 
of  coal  seemed  to  fly  up  the  sides,  into  the  ports,  of 

184 


CHAPTER   NINETEEN  185 

the  Panjnab,  as  if  incredibly  in  defiance  of  the  laws 
of  gravitation.  A  slight,  distinctly  perceptible  haze 
of  black  dust  enveloped  the  ship  like  mist.  A  low 
moaning  hung  in  the  air  like  an  essence,  intangible, 
impalpable,  inevitable:  the  plaintive  sing-song  of 
the  coal-heavers  rising  and  falling  in  mournful  mo- 
notony, endlessly  iterated. 

It  was  mid-afternoon  of  a  sultry  day.  No  air 
stirred.  The  Panjnab  was  coaling  at  Port  Said. 

O'Rourke  eyed  the  vessel  with  disfavour  from  the 
shore;  then  dropped  into  a  harbour  dinghy, 
ensconced  himself  at  the  tiller-ropes,  and  caused 
himself,  with  his  luggage  and  his  man-servant,  to 
be  conveyed  alongside  the  steamer. 

Near  the  gangway  he  was  held  back ;  another  boat 
had  forestalled  him,  another  intending  passenger  was 
shipping  for  the  East.  O'Rourke  was  interested 
idly. 

He  saw  a  woman,  a  slight,  trim  figure  becomingly 
attired  in  white,  with  a  veil  about  her  head,  leave 
the  boat  and  mount  the  gangway  steps  with  a 
springy,  youthful  step,  a  cheerful  and  positive  air, 
a  certain  but  indefinable  calm  of  self-possession. 
At  the  top  she  paused,  turned,  looked  down,  watch- 
ing the  transfer  of  her  luggage  and  her  maid.  .  .  . 
From  sundry  intangible  indications  O'Rourke  as- 
sumed the  second  woman's  figure  to  be  the  lady's 
maid.  And  so  did  Danny.  The  one  eyed  the  mis- 
tress, the  other  her  servant,  both  with  interest.  .  .  . 


186  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

The  woman  on  deck  threw  back  her  veil  She 
seemed  to  promise  uncommon  beauty  of  the  English 
type,  full-coloured  and  of  classic  mould. 
The  Irishman  was  much  too  far  away  to  be  certain, 
but  he  fancied  that  her  gaze  wandered  toward  him 
and — but  this,  of  course,  was  only  imagination— 
that  she  started  slightly. 

At  all  events,  she  was  quick  to  drop  the  veil  and 
turn  away.  Her  maid  joining  her,  both  vanished 
beneath  the  canvas  awnings.  The  boat  that  had 
brought  her  sheered  off,  and  O'Rourke  was  permitted 
to  board  the  Panjnab.  Danny,  fussing  importantly 
over  the  luggage,  followed  him. 

It  was  a  glad  .day,  the  O'Rourke  told  himself, 
that  he  trod  those  decks ;  it  saw  him  definitely  started 
on  his  way  to  the  East,  the  splendid,  barbaric  and 
alluring  East  that  called  ever,  insistently,  with  a 
siren  voice,  the  East  where  his  fortune  lay — at  the 
rainbow's  end. 


CHAPTER 
TWENTY 

O'RouRKE  roused  upon  his  elbow  and  peered  out  of 
the  port  of  his  stateroom.  The  steamer  was  plough- 
ing through  the  Bitter  Lakes.  He  saw  a  string  of 
buoys,  a  width  of  water  like  a  jade,  a  vista  of  sand, 
flat,  grey,  patched  with  grey-green  desert  shrub, 
bounded  only  by  the  horizon. 

"  Damn  .  .  ."  said  he  listlessly.  He  slipped 
down  again  upon  his  back,  panted,  and  wiped  his 
brow. 

Danny,  recognising  that  he  was  not  expected  to 
respond,  and  being  a  young  man  remarkably  acute 
to  diagnose  his  master's  moods,  prudently  re- 
frained from  comment.  He  sat  hunched  up  on  a 
cabin  stool,  his  intensely  red,  bullet-shaped  head 
bent  low  over  a  bit  of  chamois  skin,  which  he  was 
sewing  into  a  rough,  sturdy  bag.  From  time  to 
time  he  rested  it  on  his  knees,  while  he  waxed  his 
thread  or  deftly  found  the  eye  of  the  needle  as  grace- 
fully and  airily  as  any  needlewoman  living. 

O'Rourke  lay  back  on  his  pillows,  methodically 
mopping  perspiration  from  his  forehead,  his 
knees  crossed  in  the  air.  Attired  quite  simply  and 

187 


188  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

unaffectedly  in  pajamas  of  sheer  India  silk,  in  all 
likelihood  he  had  got  himself  as  near  to  comfort  as 
any  other  passenger  aboard  the  Panjnab;  but  this 
was  not  at  all  borne  out  by  his  expression,  which  was 
frankly  a  scowl  of  discontent. 

He  had  excuse;  the  heat  of  the  canal  was  most 
properly  to  be  characterised  unbearable.  The  little 
stateroom  was  stuffy  and  close;  no  least  .sigh  of  air 
stirred  in  through  the  open  port;  and  only  a  whin- 
ing punka  swaying  tediously  overhead  served  to 
make  existence  tolerable. 

Yet  it  was  not  altogether  the  heat  that  disturbed 
O'Rourke  and  rendered  him  moody  and  dissatisfied. 
He  was  a  seasoned  traveller,  and  could  stand  much 
in  the  way  of  high  temperature.  It  was  the  simple 
fact  that  he  felt  it  unwise  to  go  on  deck  ere  the 
sun  should  set  or  Suez  be  left  behind,  that  irritated 
him.  In  other  circumstances  he  had  been  quite  con- 
tent to  abide  where  he  was ;  but  he  resented  it 
enormously  that  anything  should  be  denied  him,  and 
so  swore  intermittently  beneath  his  breath:  big, 
black,  able-bodied,  blood-curdling  oaths  that  had 
done  service  in  a  dozen  climes  and  were  of  proven 
worth. 

Danny  worked  on,  imperturbable;  only  at  times 
would  his  faintly  marked,  reddish  eyebrows  elevate 
and  a  twinkle  lighten  his  eyes  when  a  particularly 
virulent  oath  minded  him  of  some  amusing  inci- 
dent in  the  past  association  of  himself  with  his 


CHAPTER   TWENTY  189 

master.  Little  worried  Danny ;  in  his  philosophy 
the  past  was  past,  the  future  on  the  knees  of  the 
gods,  and  the  present  in  the  hands  of  O'Rourke, 
whom  he  worshipped.  A  simple  creed  and  comfort- 
ing, all-sufficient  for  Danny. 

But  O'Rourke  fumed.  He  smoked,  and  found  it 
overheating.  He  tried  to  pin  his  attention  to  a 
yellow-backed  French  novel  which  at  any  other  time 
he  would  have  thought  amusing,  and  failed.  He 
squirmed  restlessly,  but  discovered  no  cool  spot  in 
his  berth.  The  devil  was  in  it!  .  .  . 

As  the  sun  dipped  beneath  the  rim  of  the  horizon, 
a  pleasant  shadow  invaded  the  stateroom,  until  that 
moment  blood-red  with  its  level  rays.  And  Danny 
straightened  up,  dropping  thimble  and  thread,  an- 
nouncing the  completion  of  his  needlework  by  a 
brief,  contented :  "  There !  " 

O'Rourke  glanced  at  the  article  dangling  from 
his  valet's  fingers,  and  slammed  the  book  against 
the  bulkhead  at  the  foot  of  his  berth. 

"  Finished,  is  it  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Faith,  'tis 
about  time,  ye  lazy  good-f or-naught !  " 

Danny  smiled  serenely.  "And  a  good  job,  too, 
sor,"  said  he  proudly.  "M'anin'  no  onrespect  to 
yer  honour,"  he  added  hastily. 

O'Rourke  grunted  acceptance  of  the  implied  apol- 
ogy, and  sat  up.  "  Let  me  see  it,"  he  demanded. 
"  Sure,  if  there's  a  weak  stitch  in  it,  Danny,  I  prom- 
ise I'll  boot  ye  over  the  side." 


190  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

"  Nivver  fear,  yer  honour.  'Tis  a  foine,  strong 
job." 

O'Rourke  took  the  subject  of  discussion  in  his 
fingers  and  examined  it  searchingly. 

"'Twill  do,"  he  announced.  "'Twill  serve  its 
purpose,  if  no  more.  *Tis  a  great  comfort  to 
me,  Danny,  to  know  that,  if  all  else  fails  ye,  ye 
can  earn  a  comfortable  living  doing  plain  sewing. 
Lay  out  me  evening  clothes  now."  He  stood  up, 
stopping  to  stare  through  the  port.  "  Good 
enough,"  he  commented  on  what  he  discovered  with- 
out ;  "  'tis  passing  Suez  we  are  this  blessed  minute. 
Praises  be,  we  caught  a  boat  that  doesn't  stop 
here." 

Danny  scratched  an  ankle  thoughtfully.  "  Yiss, 
yer  honour,"  he  assented,  dubious.  "  But,  for  all 
that,  phwat's  to  hinder  annywan  from  boordin'  us 
be  boat,  if  they  sh'u'd  want  to?" 

O'Rourke  turned  and  eyed  the  man  keenly.  "  'Tis 
a  great  head  ye  have  on  your  shoulders,  Danny," 
he  said.  "  Sometimes  ye  betray  almost  canine  intilli- 
gence.  I'm  be  way  of  having  hopes  of  ye.  Now  get 
ye  on  deck  and  watch  to  see  who  does  come  aboard, 
if  anyone,  and  report  to  me." 

"  Yiss,  yer  honour." 

O'Rourke  bolted  the  door  after  Danny  and  as- 
sured himself  that  the  keyhole  was  properly  wadded, 
that  no  crack  existed  through  which  his  movements 
might  be  observed  from  the  gangway.  Shrugging 


CHAPTER  TWENTY  191 

his  broad  shoulders  he  returned  to  the  seat  vacated 
by  his  valet  and  thrust  a  hand  beneath  the  coat 
of  his  pajamas,  withdrawing  it  a  moment  later, 
fingers  tightly  wrapped  about  a  rather  bulky  object. 

And  the  Pool  of  Flame  lay  glittering  and  stab- 
bing his  eyes  with  shafts  of  blood-red  light. 

Into  its  depths  of  pellucid  fire  O'Rourke  gazed 
long  and  earnestly,  in  the  most  profound  meditation. 
For  minutes  he  did  not  move,  save  to  shift  the  gi- 
gantic stone  from  side  to  side,  watching  it  catch 
and  glorify  the  fading  light  of  day.  The  most 
sombre  of  thoughts  seemed  to  fill  his  mind;  his 
straightforward  and  dauntless  eye  became  clouded, 
his  unlined  brow  was  shadowed  with  apprehension. 

But  at  length,  slipping  the  ruby  into  the  new  re- 
ceptacle and  drawing  the  lanyard  tight  about  its 
puckered  throat,  he  stood  up  and  threw  the  loop 
over  his  head,  permitting  the  bag  with  its  precious 
contents  to  fall  beneath  the  folds  of  his  jacket;  and, 
shaking  off  the  sober  mood  inspired  in  him  by  the 
study  of  the  stone,  rang  for  a  steward,  to  whom, 
when  he  responded,  he  entrusted  a  summons  for 
Danny — "  if  so  be  it  we're  clear  of  Suez." 

In  the  course  of  five  minutes  or  so  Danny  himself 
tapped  on  the  door  and  presented  to  his  master  a 
beaming  face. 

"  Divvle  a  sowl ! "  he  announced  triumphantly. 
"  Sure,  'tis  ourselves  have  given  thim  the  slip  en- 
tirely!" 


192  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

He  fished  a  brand  new  kit-box  from  beneath  the 
berth  and,  opening  it,  began  to  lay  out  O'Rourke's 
clothing. 

His  master  indulged  in  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  Then 
no  boat  put  off  to  us  at  all?  "  he  questioned  in- 
differently. 

"  Only  wan,"  replied  the  servant,  "  and  thot  wid 
no  wan  in  ut  but  a  naygur." 

"A  negro?"  demanded  O'Rourke,  facing  about. 
"  What  do  ye  mean  ?  Did  he  come  aboard  ?  " 

"  Sure  and  he  did  that,  yer  honour,  and  caught 
us  be  no  moore  thin  the  skin  av  his  tathe  and " 

O'Rourke  bent  over  the  man  and  seizing  him  by 
the  shoulders  swing  him  around  so  that  their  eyes 
met.  "  What  the  divvle ! "  demanded  the  adven- 
turer, "  did  ye  mean  by  telling  me  nobody  boarded 
us,  then?  What " 

"  Sure,  yer  honour.  ...  Aw,  yer  honour ! 
'Tis  mesilf  meant  no  harrm  at  all,  at  all ! " 
protested  Danny.  "  Didn't  I  Bay  thot  divvle  a 
sowl  came  aboord?  Sure,  thin,  is  a  naygur  a  hu- 
man? " 

With  an  exasperated  gesture  O'Rourke  released 
the  boy.  "  'Tis  too  much  for  me  ye  are,"  he  said 
helplessly.  "  Now  and  again  I  believe  ye  have  the 
makings  of  a  man  in  ye,  and  then  ye  go  off  and 
play  the  fool!  If  I  didn't  believe  ye  a  pure  simple- 
ton with  not  an  ounce  of  mischief  in  your  body,  I'd 
take  that  out  of  your  worthless  hide.  Get  on  with 


CHAPTER  TWENTY  193 

ye !  Tell  me  about  this  *  naygur.'  What  sort  of  a 
black  man  is  he?  " 

"  Sure,  sor,"  whimpered  Danny,  "  'tis  mesilf  that 
w'u'd  die  rather  thin  have  ye  talk  to  me  thot  way, 
yer  honour.  Upon  me  sowl,  I  niver  thought  ye'd 
worry  about  a  poor  divvle  av  a  naygur,  come  aboard 
wid  nothin'  but  a  say-chist  and  the  clothes  he  walks 
in,  beggin'  for  a  chanst  to  worrk  his  passage  to 
Bombay,  sor." 

"  Did  they  let  him  sign  on,  then  ? "  inquired 
O'Rourke. 

"  Divvle  a  bit,  rayspicts  to  ye."  More  cheer- 
fully Danny  struggled  with  the  studs  in  O'Rourke's 
shirt.  "  The  purser  was  all  for  kicking  him  back  into 
his  boat,  sor,  whin  he  offered  to  pay  passage  in 
the  steerage.  So  they  let  him  stay,  sor." 

"Seemed  to  have  money — eh?" 

"  Aw,  no,  yer  honour.  'Twas  barely  able  he  was 
to  scrape  ut  all  together." 

"  Lascar?  " 

"  I  belave  so,  yer  honour.  'Tis  harrd  for  me  to 
say.  Wan  av  thim  naygur*s  as  much  like  another 
as  two  pays,  sor;  'tis  all  tarred  wid  the  same  brush 
they  be." 

"  Ah,  well !  "  The  adventurer  girded  on  his  even- 
ing harness,  satisfaction  increasing  and  temper  bet- 
tering as  he  regarded  himself  in  the  mirror  and  saw 
that  his  coat  fitted  him  to  perfection,  that  his  trous- 
ers were  impeccable  in  cut  and  material,  his  shirt 


194  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

spotless,  his  tie  knotted  with  just  the  right  effect; 
that,  altogether,  he  looked  himself. 

"  Ah,  well,"  he  resumed  more  pacifically,  "  belike 
he's  what  he  seems,  Danny,  and  has  no  concern  with 
us  at  all.  Whether  or  no,  care  killed  the  cat.  .  .  . 
D'ye  mind,  Danny,"  he  swung  off  on  one  of  his 
characteristically  acute  tangents,  "  the  little  woman 
with  the  red  hair?  Though  'tis  meself  should  beg 
the  lady's  pardon  for  mentioning  the  colour  of  her 
hair  in  the  same  room  with  that  outrageous  head- 
light of  yours,  Danny.  .  .  .  D'ye  mind  her,  I 
mean  ?  " 

"The  wan  ye  observed  at  Poort  Said,  sor?  The 
wan  ye  told  me  to  discover  the  name  av  ?  " 

"  'Tis  a  brave  detective  ye  would  make,  Danny. 
Ye  have  me  meaning  entirely ! " 

"  Aw,  yiss."  Danny's  lips  tightened  as  he  laced 
O'Rourke's  patent-leather  shoes.  He  cast  up  at  his 
master's  face  an  oblique  glance  of  disapproval.  "  I 
mind  the  wan  ye  mane,"  he  admitted. 

He  rose,  and  as  he  did  so,  O'Rourke  gently  but 
firmly  twisted  him  around  by  the  ear  and  as  delib- 
erately and  thoughtfully  kicked  him. 

"  What  the  divvle  is  the  matter  with  ye,  Danny?  " 
he  inquired  in  pained  remonstrance.  "  Is  it  mad  ye 
are,  or  have  ye  no  judgment  at  all,  ye  scut,  that  ye 
speak  to  me  in  that  tone  ?  " 

Solicitously  Danny  rubbed  the  chastened  portion 
of  his  person,  grumbling  but  unrepentant.  "  'Tis 


CHAPTER  TWENTY  195 

the  wimmin,"  he  complained,  "  'tis  always  the  wim- 
min,  beggin'  yer  honour's  pardon.  Sure  and  yer 
honour  knows  they  do  be  forever  gettin'  us  into 
trouble.  'Tis  no  more  thin  wance  we  get  comfort- 
able and  aisy-loike  in  our  minds,  whin  wan  av  thim 
pops  up  and  drags  ye  off  into  some  fracas  or 
other " 

O'Rourke  grinned  tolerantly,  retaining  his  hold 
upon  the  servitor's  ear.  "Her  name?" 

"  Ow,  yer  honour,  leggo !  .  .  •  .  Missus  Prynne, 
sor!" 

The  wanderer  gave  the  ear  another  tweak,  by 
way  of  enforcing  the  lesson.  "Prynne,  is  it?  And 
how  did  you  learn  that,  Danny?  " 

"  'Twas  her  maid  told  me,  sor.  Leggo,  yer  hon- 
our, plaze " 

"  And  how  did  her  maid  come  to  tell  ye,  ye  great 
ugly,  long-legged  omadhaun?" 

"  Sure — ow ! — 'twas  only  a  bit  av  a  kiss  I  was  by 
way  av  givin'  her,  sor " 

"  That'll  do,  Danny,"  O'Rourke  chuckled. 

The  peal  of  the  trumpet  announcing  dinner  in- 
terrupted his  contemplated  lecture  on  the  ethics  of 
investigation  and  the  perils  of  flirtation  as  between 
maid-  and  man-servant.  But  as  he  turned  away, 
smiling,  Danny  delayed  him  an  instant  to  remove  the 
last,  least  speck  of  dust  from  the  lapel  of  his  coat, 
ere  he  permitted  the  immaculate  adventurer  to  de- 
part. 


196  THE   POOL   OF   FLAME 

**  'Tis  the  bowld,  dashing  man  he  is,"  meditated 
Danny  without  malice,  when  the  door  had  closed  be- 
hind O'Rourke.  "Phwat  woman  in  all  the  world 
would  be  holdin'  out  ag'in'  the  loikes  av  him,  now? 
Sure,  befure  the  evenin's  done,  'tis  himself  will  be 
sittin'  wid  his  arm  crooked  about  the  lady's  waist, 
explainin'  to  her  the  moonlight  on  the  wather ! " 


CHAPTER 
TWENTY-ONE 

IF  Danny's  notions  of  courtship  as  practised  by 
those  in  stations  of  life  above  his  own  were  slightly 
coloured  by  his  own  honest  methods,  his  understand- 
ing of  the  cause  of  O'Rourke's  interest  in  Mrs. 
Prynne  was  more  at  fault. 

The  wanderer  had  come  upon  that  lady  but  once 
since  he  had  boarded  the  Panjndb.  That  morning, 
himself  early  astir  because  of  his  vague  misgivings, 
he  had  discovered  her  on  the  hurricane  deck  of  the 
liner:  an  inconspicuous,  slight  figure  in  the  shadow 
of  a  life-boat,  leaning  upon  the  rail  and  gazing  with 
(he  fancied)  troubled  eyes,  out  and  across  the  waste 
below  Ismalia.  And,  seeing  her  at  such  close  quar- 
ters, in  the  clear  light  of  the  new  day,  he  had 
been  struck  afresh  with  that  impression  her  person- 
ality had  conveyed  to  him,  the  evening  before,  of 
beauty  and  breeding  beyond  the  ordinary. 

Though  she  must  have  been  conscious  of  nearing 
footsteps,  she  had  not  stirred,  and  he  had  passed 
on,  gaining  but  a  fugitive  glimpse  of  a  profile 
sweetly  serious ;  nor  had  she  appeared  either  at 
breakfast  or  luncheon.  A  circumstance  which  led 
him  to  surmise  that  she  did  not  court  observation: 

197 


198  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

an  idiosyncrasy  which  seemed  passing  strange  in  a 
a  woman  so  fair. 

The  memory  of  her,  however,  abode  with  him 
throughout  the  long,  hot  hours  of  the  day;  and, 
dwelling  upon  it,  he — the  imaginative  Celt! — had 
invested  her  with  an  illusion  of  mystery  wholly  of 
his  own  manufacture.  He  told  himself  that  she  wore 
an  air  of  watchfulness,  of  vague  expectancy,  as 
though  she,  like  himself,  feared  some  untoward  mis- 
hap ;  that  she  had  the  manner  of  one  definitely  appre- 
hensive, constantly  on  guard  against  some  unfore- 
seen peril. 

Now,  he  asked  himself,  what  could  it  be?  What 
threatened  her?  And  why? 

Sure  (and  you  can  see  the  man  straighten  up  and 
look  round  about,  challenging  the  world)  there  was 
no  good  reason  why  any  woman — more  especially 
one  so  attractive — should  fear  aught  when  the 
O'Rourke  was  at  hand  to  shield  her  for  the  asking. 
He  dimly  promised  himself  the  pleasure  of  her  ac- 
quaintance, relying  in  the  rapid  intimacy  that 
springs  up  between  strangers  on  a  long  voyage, 
with  a  still  more  indefinite  intention  of  putting  him- 
self at  her  service  in  any  cause  that  she  might  be 
pleased  to  name,  provisionally:  she  must  not  inter- 
fere with  his  plans  for  reaching  Rangoon  "  in 
ninety  days." 

That  night  he  was  hoping  to  find  the  lady  at 
dinner;  but  though  the  ship's  company  was  small, 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-ONE  199 

he  failed  to  see  her  in  the  saloon,  at  either  the 
captain's,  the  chief  officer's  or  the  doctor's  table ; 
nor,  so  far  as  he  could  determine,  was  she  taking  the 
air  on  deck.  Was  it  possible,  then,  that  he  had 
been  right,  that  she  had  a  reason  equally  as  compell- 
ing as  his  own  for  secluding  herself?  Or,  was  it 
simply  (and  infinitely  more  probably)  that  Mrs. 
Prynne  was  indisposed,  an  enervated  victim  of  ex- 
cessive heat? 

This  latter  conjecture  proved  apparently  the 
right  one,  Mrs.  Prynne  failing  to  appear  during  the 
two  following  days,  while  the  Panjnab  was  rocking 
down  the  Red  Sea  channel;  and  O'Rourke  grew  in- 
terested enough  (he  had  little  else  to  occupy  his 
mind,  for  a  duller  voyage  he  had  never  known)  to 
give  Danny  permission  to  pursue  his  inquiries:  with 
an  injunction,  however,  prohibiting  too  lavish  an  ex- 
penditure of  the  boy's  wealth  of  affection.  Where- 
upon Danny  returned  with  the  information  that  the 
mistress  of  Cecile,  the  maid,  was  suffering  from  heat 
exhaustion. 

This  was  entirely  reasonable.  O'Rourke  accepted 
the  demolition  of  his  airy  castles  of  Romance, 
laughed  at  himself,  in  part  was  successful  in  putting 
the  woman  out  of  mind ;  doubtless,  in  time,  he  would 
have  done  so  altogether,  had  not  the  lady  chosen 
to  take  the  air  the  night  that  the  Panjnab  nego- 
tiated the  Straits  of  Bab-el-Mandeb.  For  on  that 
same  night,  O'Rourke,  himself  wakeful,  was  minded 


200  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

to  sit  up  and  watch  the  lights  of  Perim  Island  heave 
into  view. 

Circumstances  were  entirely  favourable ;  the  night 
had  fallen  passably  cool  and  surpassingly  beauti- 
ful, a  strange,  still  night  of  stars,  with  a  moon  that 
rose  before  eleven,  and  waxing  in  strength,  drenched 
the  world  with  weird  glamour.  O'Rourke,  in  a  deck- 
chair  on  the  starboard  side,  well  cloaked  in  the 
shadow  of  the  deck  above,  watched  the  other  pas- 
sengers, one  by  one,  quiet  their  chatter,  yawn,  stretch 
and  slip  below  to  stuffy  staterooms.  Save  for  the 
pulsing  of  the  screws  the  ship  was  silent  by  eight 
bells ;  even  the  quaintly  melancholy  **  All's  well!  "  of 
the  watch  was  distinctly  audible  in  the  stillness. 
Thenceforward  for  a  space  O'Rourke  found  himself 
in  solitary  possession  of  the  deck,  and  was  not  ill 
pleased. 

He  suffered  a  dreamy  eye  to  rove  where  it  would, 
greedy  of  the  night's  superb  illusion.  Abeam,  and 
far  across  the  moonstruck  waters,  the  precipitous 
coast  of  Arabia  Deserta  marched  slowly,  a  low,  black 
line  athwart  the  horizon,  gradually  widening  as  the 
straits  narrowed.  The  sea,  where  the  moon's  trail 
did  not  rest  quivering,  lay  black  as  ink,  as  smooth 
and  highly  polished  as  a  mahogany  surface,  almost 
as  motionless.  The  prevailing  winds  of  the  season 
had  subsided  into  still,  stealthy  airs,  barely  percep- 
tible ;  stark  night  brooded  on  the  face  of  the  waters, 
profound  in  its  mystery. 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-ONE  201 

Awed  by  this  unearthly  wonder,  O'Rourke  was  re- 
luctant to  stir ;  it  were  a  profanation  to  smoke,  even 
as  the  shudder  and  surge  of  the  driven  ship  seemed 
a  profanation.  Unconscious  of  the  lapse  of  time, 
indeed  oblivious  to  it,  the  Irishman  fell  into  a  deep 
reverie,  steeping  his  soul  in  sadness,  pondering  those 
futile  days  of  adventure  that  lay  behind  him,  seek- 
ing to  penetrate  the  mystery  of  the  future.  .  .  . 

Four  bells — two  o'clock — chimed  upon  his  con- 
sciousness like  a  physical  shock.  He  verified  the  hour 
by  his  watch  and,  reluctantly  enough,  agreed  that 
it  was  time  he  got  himself  to  bed.  He  half  rose 
from  his  chair,  then  sank  back  with  an  inaudible 
catch  of  his  breath.  Without  warning  the  appari- 
tion of  a  white-clad  woman  had  invaded  the  prome- 
nade deck.  For  an  instant  he  hardly  credited  his 
eyes,  then,  with  a  nod  of  recognition,  he  identified 
Mrs.  Prynne. 

Unquestionably  unconscious  of  his  presence  in  the 
shadow,  she  fell  to  pacing  to  and  fro.  Now  and 
again  she  stopped,  and  with  chin  cradled  in  her  small 
hands,  elbows  on  the  rail,  watched  the  approaching 
cliffs  of  Arabia ;  then,  with  perhaps  a  sigh,  returned 
to  her  untimely  constitutional. 

Partly  because  he  had  no  wish  to  startle  her,  partly 
because  he  was  glad  to  watch  unobserved  (he  had 
a  rare  eye  for  beauty,  the  O'Rourke),  the  wanderer 
sat  on  without  moving,  stirred  only  by  active  curios- 
ity. The  strangeness  of  her  appearance  upon  deck 


202  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

at  such  an  hour  fascinated  his  imagination  no  less 
than  her  person  held  his  eye.  He  gave  himself  over 
to  vain  and  profitless  speculation.  .  .  .  Why, 
he  wondered,  should  she  keep  to  her  cabin  the  greater 
part  of  the  evening,  only  to  take  the  air  when  none 
might  be  supposed  to  observe  her? 

Why,  if  not  to  escape  such  observation?  Then, 
he  told  himself,  he  must  be  right  in  his  supposition 
that  she  had  something  to  fear,  someone  to  avoid. 
What  or  whom?  What  was  it  all,  what  the  mystery 
that,  as  he  watched  her,  seemed  to  grow,  to  cling 
about  her  like  some  formless,  impalpable  garment? 

Events  conspired  to  weave  the  man  into  the  warp 
and  woof  of  her  affairs ;  more  quickly  than  he  could 
grasp  the  reason  for  his  sudden  action,  he  found  him- 
self a-foot  and  dashing  aft  at  top  speed.  But  an 
instant  gone  Mrs.  Prynne  had  passed  him,  unmo- 
lested and  wrapped  in  her  splendid  isolation ;  and 
then  from  the  after  part  of  the  deck  he  had  heard 
a  slight  and  guarded  cry  of  distress,  and  a  small 
scuffling  sound. 

In  two  breaths  he  was  by  her  side  and  found  her 
struggling  desperately  in  the  arms  of  a  lascar — a 
deck-hand  on  the  steamer. 

At  first  the  strangeness  of  the  business  so  amazed 
O'Rourke  that  he  paused  and  held  his  hand,  briefly 
rooted  in  action.  For  although  it  was  apparent  that 
she  had  been  caught  off  her  guard,  wholly  unpre- 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-ONE  203 

pared  against  assault,  and  while  she  struggled 
fiercely  to  break  the  lascar's  hold,  the  woman  still 
uttered  no  cry.  A  .single  scream  would  have  brought 
her  aid;  yet  she  held  her  tongue. 

The  two,  the  woman's  slight,  white  figure  and 
the  lascar's  gaunt  and  sinewy  one,  strained  and 
fought,  swaying  silently  in  the  shadows,  tensely, 
with  the  effect  of  a  fragment  of  some  disordered 
nightmare.  But  then,  as  the  lascar  seemed  about  to 
overpower  his  victim,  O'Rourke,  electrified,  sprang 
upon  the  man's  back.  With  one  strong  arm  deftly 
he  embraced  the  fellow,  an  elbow  beneath  his  chin 
forcing  his  head  up  and  back.  With  the  other  hand 
O'Rourke  none  too  gently  tore  away  an  arm  encir- 
cling the  woman.  Then  wrenching  the  two  apart,  he 
sent  a  knee  crashing  into  the  small  of  the  lascar's 
back,  all  but  breaking  him  in  two,  and  so  flung  him 
sprawling  into  the  scuppers. 

Without  a  word  the  man  slid  upon  his  shoulders 
a  full  half-dozen  feet,  while  O'Rourke  had  a  mo- 
mentary glimpse  of  his  face  in  the  moonlight — 
dark-skinned  and  sinister  of  expression  with  its  white, 
glaring  'eyeballs.  Then,  in  one  bound,  he  was 
on  his  feet  again  and  springing  lithely  back  to  the 
attack:  and  as  he  came  on  a  jagged  gleam  of  moon- 
light ran  like  lightning  down  the  sinuous  and  for- 
midable length  of  a  kris,  most  deadly  of  knives. 

O'Rourke  fell  back  a  pace  or  two.    His  own  hands 


204  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

were  empty ;  he  had  nothing  out  naked  fists  and  high 
courage  to  pit  against  the  lascar  and  his  kris. 
Keenly  alert,  he  threw  himself  into  a  pose  of  defence. 
He  had  yet  to  give  up  a  fight  because  the  odds  were 
long  against  him.  He  speculated  briefly  on  the  pos- 
sibility of  running  in  under  the  lascar's  guard  and 
closing  with  him,  thereby  escaping  with  perhaps 
a  slight  cut.  .  .  . 

But  O'Rourke  had  forgotten  the  woman ;  it  was 
enough  that  he  had  made  possible  her  escape,  and 
he  had  no  thought  other  than  she  had  fled.  It  was, 
therefore,  with  as  much  surprise  as  relief  that  he 
caught  the  glimmer  of  her  white  figure  as  she  thrust 
herself  before  him  and  saw  the  lascar  bring  up  in 
the  middle  of  a  leap,  his  nose  not  an  inch  from  the 
muzzle  of  an  army  Webley  of  respect-compelling 
calibre. 

Simultaneously,  he  heard  her  voice,  clear  and  in- 
cisive if  low  of  tone :  "  Drop  that  knife !  " 

The  kris  shivered  upon  the  deck. 

"  Faith !  "  murmured  the  Irishman,  "  and  what 
manner  of  woman  is  this,  now?  " 

She  did,  indeed,  command  unstinted  admiration. 
The  weapon  in  her  hands  was  firm  and  steady ;  and 
she  handled  herself  as  she  did  it — with  supreme  as- 
surance. 

The  lascar  stood  as  rigid  as  though  carven  out  of 
stone,  long,  gaunt  legs  shining  softly  brown  beneath 
his  coal,  dazzling  white  cummerbund,  the  upper  half 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-ONE  205 

of  his  body  lost  in  the  shadow  of  the  deck,  a  grey 
blur  standing  for  his  turban. 

O'Rourke  stepped  forward,  with  a  quick  move- 
ment kicking  the  kris  overboard,  and  would  have 
seized  the  fellow  but  that  the  woman  intervened. 

She  said  decisively :     "  If  you  please — no." 

Bewildered,  O'Rourke  hesitated.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon "  he  said  in  confusion. 

She  did  not  reply  directly;  her  attention  was  all 
for  the  lascar,  whom  her  revolver  still  covered.  To 
him,  "  Go ! "  she  said  sharply,  with  a  significant 
motion  of  the  weapon. 

The  lascar  stepped  back,  with  a  single  wriggle 
losing  himself  in  the  dense  shadows. 

O'Rourke  fairly  gaped  amazement  at  the  woman, 
who,  on  her  part,  retreated  slowly  until  her  back 
touched  the  railing.  She  remained  very  quiet  and 
thoroughly  mistress  of  herself,  betraying  agitation 
only  by  slightly  quickened  breathing  and  cold  pal- 
lor. Her  eyes  raked  the  deck  on  either  hand:  it  was 
plain  that  she  had  no  faith  in  the  lascar,  perhaps 
apprehended  his  return ;  yet  her  splendid  control 
of  her  nerves  evoked  the  Irishman's  open  admiration. 

"  Faith ! "  he  cried,  breaking  a  tense  silence,  "  'tis 
yourself  shames  me,  madam,  with  the  courage  of 
ye!" 

She  flashed  him  a  glance,  and  laughed  slightly. 
"  Thank  you,5'  she  returned.  "  I'm  sure  I  don't 
know  where  I  should  be  now  but  for  you." 


206  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

"  'Twas  nothing  at  all.  But  ye'll  pardon  me  for 
suggesting  that  ye  have  made  a  mistake,  madam." 

"  A  mistake  ?  "  she  echoed ;  and  then,  thought- 
fully: "No,  I  shouldn't  call  it  that." 

"  Letting  him  go,  I  mean.  Neither  of  us,  I  be- 
lieve, could  well  identify  him.  When  ye  report  this 
outrage  to  the  captain,  whom  will  ye  accuse  ?  " 

The  woman  stood  away  from  the  rail,  replacing  the 
revolver  in  a  pocket  hidden  in  the  folds  of  her  skirt. 
She  laughed  again,  lightly — a  deep-toned  laugh  that 
thrilled  O'Rourke.  She  was  indeed  a  woman  among 
women,  who  could  laugh  after  such  an  experience: 
a  woman  after  his  own  heart. 

"  I  shall  accuse  no  one,"  she  said  quietly,  "  for 
I  shan't  report  the  affair." 

"  Ye  will  not "  he  cried,  astounded. 

"  Indeed,  I  am  quite  sincere :  I  shall  do  nothing 
whatever  about  it.  It  is,  moreover,  a  favour  which 
I  shall  ask  of  you,  to  say  nothing  of  the  matter 
to  anyone." 

O'Rourke  hesitated,  unwilling  to  believe  that  he 
had  heard  aright. 

"  Believe  me,"  she  was  saying  earnestly,  "  I  have 
good  reason  for  making  a  request  so  unaccountable 
to  you." 

"  But— but— Mrs.  Prynne !" 

"  Oh,  you  know  me  then  ? "  she  interrupted 
sharply.  And  her  look  was  curious  and  intent. 

"  I — 'tis — faith !  "  O'Rourke  stammered.     He  felt 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-ONE  207 

his  face  burn.  "  Me  valet  told  me,"  he  confessed 
miserably.  "  'Tis  a  bit  of  a  flirtation  he's  been  hav- 
ing with  your  maid,  Cecile,  I  believe,  madam." 

"  Ah,  yes."  She  seemed  unaccountably  relieved. 
"  You,  then,  are  Colonel  O'Rourke?  " 

He  bowed.  "  Terence  O'Rourke,  madam,  and  at 
your  service,  believe  me." 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  she  said  slowly,  eyeing  him 
deliberately,  "  that,  since  I  had  to  be  aided,  it  came 
through  one  of  whom  I  have  heard  so  much " 

"  Faith,  Mrs.  Prynne !  " 

"  And  I  thank  you  a  second  time,  very  heartily ! " 
She  offered  him  her  hand,  and  smiled  bewitch- 
ingly. 

"  'Tis  embarrassing  me  ye  are,"  he  protested. 
"  Faith,  to  be  thanked  twice  for  so  slight  a  service ! 
I  can  only  wish  that  I  might  do  more " 

"  It  is  possible,"  she  said,  apparently  not  in  the 

least  displeased  by  his  presumption "  It  is 

possible  that  I  may  take  you  at  your  word,  Colonel 
O'Rourke." 

In  her  eyes,  intent  upon  his,  he  fancied  that  he 
recognised  an  amused  flicker,  with,  perhaps,  a  trace 
of  deeper  emotion:  the  kindling  interest  of  a  woman 
in  a  strong  man,  with  whose  signals  he  was  not  un- 
familiar. Pride  and  his  conceit  stirred  in  his  breast. 

"  'Twould  be  the  delight  of  me  life,"  he  told  her 
in  an  ecstasy. 

"  Don't  be  too  sure,  I  warn  you,  colonel."     Her 


208  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

manner  was  now  arch,  her  smile  entirely  charming. 
"  It  might  be  no  light  service  I  should  require  of 
you." 

"  Ye  couldn't  ask  one  too  heavy.  .  .  .  But 
'tis  weary  ye  are,  Mrs.  Prynne  ? "  he  inquired, 
solicitous. 

"  Very."  There  was  in  fact  an  indefinite  modula- 
tion of  weariness  in  her  voice.  Her  manner  changed ; 
she  moved  away,  hesitated  and  returned,  her  dainty 
head  drooping  as  with  fatigue.  She  managed  sud- 
denly to  make  herself  seem  very  fragile  and  pitiful ; 
which  is  woman's  most  dangerous  aspect  in  the  eyes 
of  man.  "  I'm  only  a  woman,"  she  said  faintly, 
with  a  little  gesture  of  deprecation ;  "  and  my  ways 
are  hedged  about  with  grave  perils " 

"  'Tis  the  O'Rourke  would  gladly  brave  them  all 
for  ye,  madam,"  he  declared  gallantly.  "  Command 
me — what  ye  will." 

She  lifted  her  gaze  to  his,  colouring  divinely  there 
in  the  moon-glamour.  He  looked  into  her  curiously 
bewitching  eyes  and  saw  there  an  appeal  and  a 
strange  little  tender  smile.  Her  head  was  so  near  his 
shoulder  that  he  was  aware  of  the  vague,  alluring 
perfume  of  her  hair.  Her  scarlet  lips  parted  .  .  . 
And  he  became  suddenly  aware  that  it  behooved  him 
to  hold  himself  well  in  hand.  It  were  an  easy  mat- 
ter to  imagine  himself  swept  off  his  feet,  into  a  whirl 
of  infatuation,  with  a  little  encouragement.  And 
he  was  not  unsophisticated  enough  to  fail  to  see  that 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-ONE  209 

encouragement  would  not  be  lacking  if  he  chose  to 
recognise  it. 

"  Faith,"  he  told  himself,  "  I'm  thinking  'twould 
be  wiser  for  me  to  take  to  me  heels  and  run  be- 
fore .  .  ." 

He  was  spared  the  ignominious  necessity  of  flight. 
In  two  breaths  they  showed  two  very  different  pic- 
tures. Now  they  stood  alone  on  the  dead  white  deck, 
alone  with  the  night,  the  sea,  the  stars,  the  silence 
and  the  moonlight:  O'Rourke  a  bit  dismayed  and 
wary,  but  as  curious  as  any  man  in  such  a  case;  the 
woman  apparently  yielding  to  a  sudden  fascination 
for  him,  swaying  a  little  toward  him  as  if  in- 
viting the  refuge  of  his  arms.  .  .  .  And  now 
she  started  away,  clutching  at  her  heart,  with  a  little 
choking  cry  of  alarm ;  while  beneath  them  the  vessel 
was  still  quivering  with  a  harsh  yet  deadened  detona- 
tion like  an  explosion,  together  with  a  grinding 
crash  and  shriek  of  riven  steel  somewhere  deep  in  the 
hold. 

Inexpressibly  dismayed,  they  stared  with  wide 
and  questioning  eyes  at  one  another,  through  a  long 
minute  filled  with  an  indescribable  uproar:  a  suc- 
cession of  shocks  and  thumps  in  the  interior  of  the 
vessel  gradually  diminishing  in  severity  while,  in  a 
pandemonium  of  clamorous  voices,  the  liner,  like  a 
stricken  thing,  hesitated  in  its  southward  surge,  then 
slowly  limped  into  a  dead  halt  on  the  face  of  the 
waters. 


CHAPTER 
TWENTY-TWO 

O'ROURKE'S  first  fears  were  for  the  woman,  his  first 
words  a  lie  designed  to  reassure  her. 

"  What — what  does  it  mean?  "  she  gasped  faintly, 
her  face  as  white  as  marble,  her  eyes  wide  and  terri- 
fied. 

"  Sure,  I'm  thinking  'tis  nothing  at  all,"  he  an- 
swered readily,  with  a  smile  amending,  "  nothing 
of  any  great  consequence,  that  is  to  say.  Permit 
me  to  escort  ye  to  your  cabin.  But  one  moment." 

He  leaned  far  out  over  the  rail,  glancing  down  the 
vessel's  freeboard  fore  and  aft.  To  his  eyes  (and 
his  eyes  were  sharpened,  you  may  be  sure)  the 
Panjnab  still  rested  on  an  even  keel,  nor  seemed  to 
be  settling :  a  circumstance  which  tended  to  relieve  his 

most  immediate  fear that  the  vessel  had  .struck 

one  of  those  sharp-toothed  coral  reefs  with  which  the 
Red  Sea  is  so  thickly  studded. 

"  There'll  be  life-preservers  in  the  lockers  over 
there,"  said  O'Rourke ;  "  and  if  'twill  reassure  ye 
I'll  be  happy  to  help  ye  adjust  one.  But  I  don't 
think  it  necessary.  From  this  and  that  I  judge  'tis 
no  more  than  an  engine-room  accident." 

210 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-TWO 

"  I'm  not  afraid,"  Mrs.  Prynne  interjected. 

"Faith,  I  see  that,  madam.  But  your  maid, 

now ?  Would  it  not  be  well  to  return  to  your 

stateroom  and  quiet  her,  whilst  I'm  ascertaining 
the  cause  of  this  trouble?  I  promise  to  advise  ye 
instantly,  whether  there's  danger  or  not." 

"  You're  very  thoughtful,"  she  returned.  "  I'm 
sure  you're  right.  Thank  you." 

He  escorted  her  to  her  stateroom  and  left  her  at 
the  door,  remarking  its  number  and  renewing  his 
pledge  to  return  in  ten  minutes — more  speedily  if 
possible.  He  was  back  in  five,  with  a  long  face. 

Mrs.  Prynne  answered  instantly  his  double- 
knuckled  summons  and,  stepping  out  quickly,  closed 
the  door  tight.  In  the  fraction  of  a  second  that  it 
was  wide,  however,  O'Rourke  saw  one  side  of  the 
stateroom  warm  and  bright  with  electric  light,  and 
sitting  there,  Cecile  the  maid,  completely  dressed, 
wide  awake  and  vigilant.  The  girl  was  French  and 
sullenly  handsome  after  her  kind.  O'Rourke  got  an 
impression  of  a  resolute  chin  and  resolute  eyes  under 
level  brows ;  and  he  did  not  in  the  least  doubt  that 
she  was  quite  prepared  to  make  good  and  effectual 
use  of  the  revolver  which  she  held  pointed  directly 
at  the  opening. 

Why? 

From  her  mistress's  poise,  too — one  arm  rigid  at 
her  side,  the  hand  concealed  in  the  folds  of  her 
gown — O'Rourke  divined  that  she  was  alert,  armed. 


212  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

on  her  guard  no  less  than  the  maid.  But  she  left 
him  no  time  to  puzzle  over  the  mystery. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  demanded  breathlessly. 

"  'Tis  as  I  thought,  Mrs.  Prynne.  A  cylinder- 
head  has  blown  off  and  done  no  end  of  damage. 
We're  crippled,  if  in  no  danger.  The  other  screw 
will  take  us  as  far  as  Aden,  but  there  we'll  have  to 
wait  for  the  next  boat." 

Mrs.  Prynne's  face  clouded  with  dismay.  "  How 
long — a  day  or  two?"  she  demanded. 

"  Mayhap,"  he  replied,  no  less  disconsolate ; 
"  mayhap  as  much  as  a  week.  Faith,  'tis  meself 
that  would  it  were  otherwise,  but  I  fear  there's  no 
mending  matters." 

She  regarded  him  thoughtfully  for  an  instant. 

"  Then  you,  too,  travel  in  haste,  colonel?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do  so,  madam.  Me  fortune  hangs  upon 
me  haste.  If  I  get — there  " — he  checked  himself 
in  time,  the  word  Rangoon  upon  his  lips — "  too  late, 
'twill  be  all  up.  I'm  heavy  with  an  urgent  enter- 
prise, madam."  And  he  smiled. 

The  woman  looked  past  him,  down  the  dusk  of 
the  gangway,  apparently  pondering  her  dilemma. 
"What  will  you  do?"  she  inquired  at  length. 

"Faith!"  he  said,  disturbed,  "that's  hard  to 
say." 

She  flashed  him  an  ironic  look.  "  You  mean  you 
are  resigned  to  the  inevitable  ?  " 

"  Be  the  powers ! "  he  cried  in  resentment,  "  I'm 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-TWO  213 

resigned  to  nothing  that  doesn't  please  me.  Is  it 
that  ye  ask  me  aid?  Sure,  if  ye  do,  neither  the  in- 
evitable nor  the  impossible  shall  keep  ye  from  arriv- 
ing at  Bombay,  and  on  time ! " 

Her  spirit,  through  her  eyes,  answered  his  in  a 
flash.  Then  cooling,  she  looked  him  over  from  crown 
to  toe,  weighing  him  deliberately  in  the  balance  of 
her  knowledge  of  men.  He  bore  the  inspection  with 
equanimity,  quite  sure  of  himslf,  as  was  natural 
in  the  O'Rourke.  Provoked,  put  on  his  mettle,  he 
felt  himself  invincible,  and  showed  it  in  every  line 
of  his  pose.  She  could  not  have  wavered  long;  in- 
deed, her  decision  was  quickly  manifest.  Impulsively 
she  caught  his  two  hands  in  her  own. 

"  Yes,"  she  cried,  "  I  do  believe  in  you !  I  take 
you  at  your  word — your  generous  word,  Colonel 
O'Rourke!  I  shall  trust  implicitly  in  you.  You 
shall  get  me  to  Bombay  by  the  fifteenth." 

"  The  fifteenth?  "  he  echoed  thoughtfully.  "  This 
is  the  tenth." 

"  The  Panjndb  is  scheduled  to  arrive  on  the  fif- 
teenth. All  my  plans  depend  upon  there  being  no 
delay." 

"  Five  days !  ...  It  shall  be  managed,  Mrs. 
Prynne.  Bombay  by  the  fifteenth  it  shall  be,  or 
the  O'Rourke  will  have  broken  his  heart ! " 

She  grew  thoughtful.  "  You  are  very  good — I've 
told  you  that.  I  believe  that  you  will  accomplish 
what  you  promise.  Yet  it  seems  hardly  fair  to  sad- 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

die  you  with  my  cares,  my  perils,  without  informing 
you  of  their  nature 

"  Madam,  'tis  not  the  O'Rourke  who  would  ever 
be  prying  into  your  secrets.  Let's  not  complicate 
a  simple  situation  with  explanations.  "Pis  thus: 
ye  have  come  to  me  and  put  yourself  in  me  hands, 
saying " 

"  Colonel,  dear,"  she  laughed,  with  a  delicious  imi- 
tation of  his  faint  brogue,  "  will  ye  take  me  to 
Bombay  by  the  fifteenth  ?  " 

"  I  will  that,"  he  asserted  heartily :  "  I  will  if  I 
have  to  swim  the  Arabian  Sea  with  ye  in  me  arms !  " 

To  a  tune  of  dull  poundings  in  the  engine-room, 
the  Panjnab  began  to  move  onward,  limping  distress- 
ingly. 

"  Ye  see,"  said  O'Rourke,  "  the  very  stars  work 
in  their  courses  to  aid  us." 

"  I  pin  my  faith  to  a  less  heavenly  body — Colonel 
O'Rourke." 

"  Ye  may,  Mrs.  Prynne,"  he  returned  simply. 
"And  so  'tis  good  night  to  ye — or  good  morning! 
I'm  off  to  scheme  me  a  plan." 

"  But,  colonel,  there  is  one  thing  more."  He 
paused.  "  It  is  a  question,"  she  continued,  "  of 
chartering  a  ship  at  Aden,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  I  see  no  other  way." 

"  Then — spare  no  expense,  Colonel  O'Rourke. 
Remember  that  I  foot  the  bill." 

"  But— er " 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-TWO  215 

"  Or,  if  you  insist,  sir,  I  pay  nothing :  Great 
Britain  pays  for  both  of  us." 

"Eh?     Yes?"  he  stammered. 

"  But  see,  colonel." 

He  had  before  then  noted  indifferently  that  she 
wore  a  chain  of  thin,  fine  gold  about  her  neck,  its 
termination — presumably  a  locket  of  some  sort — 
hidden  in  the  folds  of  her  corsage.  Now  she  quietly 
pulled  this  forth,  and  displayed  her  pendant,  a  little 
trinket  of  gold,  a  running  greyhound  exquisitely 
modelled. 

Stunned,  he  stared  first  at  the  toy,  then  at  the 

woman.  "  Ye  mean  to  say ?  "  he  whispered, 

doubting. 

"  On  the  King's  service,  Colonel  O'Rourke ! " 

"A  King's  courier,  madam?     You — a  woman!" 

"And  why  not?"  she  demanded  proudly.  "The 
King's  messengers  dare  many  dangers,  it's  true.  But 
in  some  of  them  might  not  a  woman  serve  better  than 
a  man?  " 

"  True  enough.  Yet  'tis  unprecedented — at  least, 
ye'll  admit,  most  unusual.  I  begin  to  understand. 
That  lascar,  for  instance ?  " 

"  Believe  me,  Colonel  O'Rourke,  I'm  at  liberty 
to  tell  you  nothing." 

"  Tell  me  this,  at  least :  would  ye  know  him  if  ye 
saw  him  again?  " 

"  Truthfully,"  she  said,  looking  him  in  the  eye, 
**  I  would  not.  I  will  say  one  other  word :  I  had 


216  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

anticipated  his  attack,  although  I  had  never  seen 
him  before." 

"  Faith,  'tis  yourself  that  has  your  courage  with 
ye,  Mrs.  Prynne !  .  .  .  But  good  night,  madam ! 
Your  servant!" 

"  Good  night,  colonel,"  she  said  softly,  and  as  she 
watched  him  swing  away,  laughed  lightly  and 
strangely.  Later,  still  standing  outside  her  door, 
she  sighed,  and  an  odd  light  glowed  deep  in  her 
eyes  of  greyish-green.  Sighing  again,  and  with 
another  low  laugh  that  rang  a  thought  derisive,  as 
though  she  were  flouting  the  man  whose  sendee  she 
accepted  so  gladly,  she  turned  and  vanished  within 
her  stateroom. 

As  she  did  so,  the  opposite  door — that  of  an  in- 
side stateroom  on  the  same  gangway — was  opened 
cautiously.  A  turbaned  head  peered  out,  its  eyes 
glancing  swiftly  up  and  down  the  corridor.  Long 
since,  however,  the  excited  passengers  had  been 
reassured  and  had  returned  to  their  berths;  the 
coast  was  clear. 

The  lascar  stepped  noiselessly  out,  shut  the  door 
without  a  sound,  and  sped  swiftly  forward:  a  long, 
brown  man  with  an  impassive  cast  of  countenance 
in  which  his  eyes  shone  with  a  curious  light. 

As  he  swung  into  the  space  at  the  foot  of  the 
saloon  companionway,  he  collided  violently  with  an 
undersized  and  excessively  red-headed  Irishman, 
nearly  upsetting  the  latter,  to  say  nothing  of  a 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-TWO  217 

glass  of  brandy-and-soda  which  he  was  conveying 
to  a  certain  stateroom. 

"Phwat  the  divvle,  ye  domned  naygur!  Pwhy 
d'ye  not  look  where  ye're  going?  "  demanded  Danny 
with  some  heat. 

The  East  Indian  backed  away,  bowed  pro- 
foundly, mumbling  something  inarticulate,  and 
sprang  up  the  steps.  Danny  looked  after  him,  for 
a  moment  hesitant,  then  put  down  the  tray  and 
pursued.  He  caught  the  flicker  of  the  lascar's  cum- 
merbund as  the  latter  escaped  to  the  deck,  and  him- 
self arrived  at  the  forward  end  of  the  promenade 
just  in  time  to  see  a  white  shape  disappear  into  the 
steerage  companionway. 

"  I'd  take  me  oath,"  said  Danny  reflectively, 
"  thot  he's  the  naygur  thot  came  aboard  at  Suez. 
'Tis  meself  thot  wishes  I'd  had  a  betther  peep  at  the 
ugly  mug  av  him.  I'm  thinking  I'd  betther  be  after 
tellin'  himself." 


CHAPTER 
TWENTY-THREE 

LURCHING  drunkenly  into  the  harbour  known  locally 
as  Aden  Back  Bay,  the  Panjnab  came  to  anchor. 

As  it  had  been  with  Port  Said,  so  it  was  with 
Aden :  a  dead  calm  held ;  the  place  basked  unhap- 
pily in  an  intolerable  blaze  of  sunlight.  A  theat- 
rical sense  of  unreality,  of  illusion,  was  the  keynote 
of  the  scene.  Upon  the  painted  water  of  the  harbour 
that  moved  only  in  long,  oily  swells,  mirroring  the 
sun  blindingly,  painted  vessels  at  their  moorings 
jigged  solemnly  and  silently  with  their  inverted, 
painted  images.  Beyond  them  curved  a  crescent  of 
glaring  yellow  beach,  backed  by  the  dingy  settlement 
overshadowed  by  its  three  hotels ;  in  the  background 
the  dead  crater  of  Jebel  Shan-shan  reared  a  haggard 
crest  into  a  sky  of  dense,  painty  blue.  The  air  seethed 
with  heat,  causing  the  whole  to  vibrate,  to  tremble 
with  all  the  instability  of  mirage,  or  like  a  stage 
backdrop  swayed  by  an  errant  draught.  .  .  . 

O'Rourke,  from  the  lower  grating  of  the  steam- 
ship's accommodation  ladder,  signalled  to  one  of  the 
swarm  of  hovering  dinghys,  and  waiting  for  it  to 
come  in,  reviewed  the  anchored  shipping,  gathered 
transiently  together  in  that  spot  from  the  four  cor- 
ners of  the  earth,  and  shook  his  head  despondingly. 

218 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-THREE         219 

A  yellow-haired  Somali  boatman  shot  his  little 
craft  in  to  the  grating.  O'Rourke  dropped  upon 
the  stern-seat  and  took  the  tiller.  "  Post  Office 
pier,"  he  said  curtly.  The  dinghy  shot  away  with 
dipping,  dripping  oars,  while  the  Irishman  continued 
to  search  among  the  vessels  for  anything  that  seemed 
to  promise  the  speed  necessary  for  his  purpose,  and 
failed  to  discover  one. 

"  'Tis  hopeless,"  he  conceded  bitterly  as  the  boat 
wove  a  serpentine  wake  in  and  out  among  the  heav- 
ing bulks.  "  And,  I'm  thinking,  'tis  the  O'Rourke 
who  will  presently  be  slinking  back  to  confess  he 
bragged  beyond  his  powers.  The  fool  that  ye  are, 
Terence,  with  your  big  words  and  your  fine  promises, 
all  empty  as  your  purse!  'Tis  out  of  patience  I  am 
with  ye  entirely !  "  He  gave  it  up,  bowed  to  the  fer- 
vour of  the  .sun,  pulled  his  helmet  down  over  his  eyes, 
and  sat  sunk  deep  in  misery ;  for,  sure,  it  was  a  sad, 
sad  thing  that  the  O'Rourke  should  have  to  con- 
fess defeat  (and  that  at  the  very  outset!)  to  a 
woman. 

Doubtless  he  made  the  very  picture  of  unhappi- 
ness. 

So,  at  least,  seemed  to  think  a  man  lounging  in  a 
dilapidated  canvas  deck-chair  beneath  a  dirty  awning 
in  the  stern  of  a  distant  tramp  steamer ;  who,  raking 
the  shoreward-bound  with  a  pair  of  rusty  binoculars, 
had  chanced  to  focus  upon  O'Rourke. 

"  Looks  as  if  he  hadn't  a  friend  in  the  world," 


said  the  stout  man  audibly.  "  Looks  as  if  a  letter 
from  home  with  a  cash  draft  'ud  about  fill  his  little 
bill." 

He  grunted  in  pleased  appreciation  of  his  own 
subtle  wit.  A  short  man  he  was,  stout,  very  much 
at  home  in  grimy  pajamas  and  nothing  else,  with 
eyes  small,  blue,  informed  with  twinkling  humour 
and  set  in  a  florid  countenance  bristling  with  a 
three  days'  growth  of  greyish  beard. 

He  swung  the  glasses  again  upon  O'Rourke,  and, 
"  Hell !  "  he  exclaimed,  sitting  up  with  stimulated 
interest.  "Well,  by  jinks!"  said  the  stout  man. 
"  Who'd  a-thunk  it?" 

He  got  up  with  evident  haste  and  waddled  for- 
ward to  the  bridge,  where  he  came  upon  what  he 
evidently  needed  in  his  business :  a  huge  and  battered 
megaphone.  Applying  this  to  his  lips  and  filling 
his  lungs  he  bellowed  with  a  right  good  will,  and  his 
hail,  not  unlike  the  roaring  of  an  amiable  bull,  awoke 
Aden's  echoes :  "  0-o-Rourke!  " 

"  Good  morning,"  murmured  the  Irishman,  lifting 
his  head  to  stare  about  him  with  incredulous  curi- 
osity. "Who's  that  barking  at  me?  " 

The  pajama'd  person  continuing  to  shout  at  the 
top  of  his  voice,  by  dint  of  earnest  staring  the  Irish- 
man eventually  located  the  source  of  the  uproar. 
"  Now  who  the  divvle  might  ye  be  ?  "  he  wondered. 
**  Ananias,  me  friend," — to  the  boatman — "  row  to 
the  steamer  yonder  where  the  noise  comes  from." 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-THREE 

Whereupon  the  stout  man,  seeing  the  boat  alter 
its  course,  put  aside  the  megaphone.  And  again 
peace  brooded  over  Aden. 

On  nearer  approach  to  the  tramp,  O'Rourke's 
smile  broadened  to  a  pleased  grin,  and  airily  he 
waved  a  hand  to  the  man  with  the  voice. 

"  Jimmy  Quick !  "  he  observed  with  unfeigned  de- 
light. "  Faith,  I  begin  to  believe  that  me  luck  holds, 
after  all !  " 

From  the  bottom  step  of  the  tramp's  ladder  he 
tossed  a  coin  to  the  boatman,  then  mounted  to  the 
deck.  Incontinently  the  stout  man  fell  heavily  upon 
his  neck  with  symptoms  of  extreme  joy.  A  lull  suc- 
ceeding his  first  transports,  he  wiped  his  eyes,  beamed 
upon  his  guest  and  suggested  insinuatingly: 
"Drink?" 

"  Brevity's  ever  the  soul  of  your  wit,  captain," 
said  O'Rourke.  "  I  will."  And  he  meekly  followed 
Quick's  bare  heels  forward  to  the  officers'  quarters 
beneath  the  bridge. 

Having  set  him  in  a  chair,  Quick,  still  a-gurgle, 
wandered  off,  unearthed  a  bottle,  beamed  upon  his 
visitor,  asked  a  dozen  questions  in  as  many  breaths 
and,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  waddled  off 
again  to  return  \vith  a  brace  of  dripping  soda-water 
bottles.  "  Schweppe's,"  he  said,  patting  their  ro- 
tund forms  tenderly ;  "  and  the  last  in  our  lockers — 
all  in  your  honour,  colonel." 

"  So?  "  commented  O'Rourke.     "  Hard  up,  is  it? 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

'Tis  not  the  O'Rourke  who  would  be  wishing  ye  ill, 
captain,  dear,  but,  faith,  meself's  not  sorry  to  hear 
that  word  this  day.  I'm  thinking  me  luck  is  sound, 
after  all." 

Quick  had  again  vanished.  Presently  O'Rourke 
heard  his  mighty  voice  booming  down  an  engine- 
room  ventilator.  "  Dravos !  Dravos,  you  loafer ! 
Come  up  and  see  a  strange  sight ! " 

He  came  back,  still  vibrant  with  an  elephantine 
sort  of  joy.  "  O'Rourke,"  he  panted,  mopping  a 
damp  brow  with  the  sleeve  of  his  jacket,  "  you're 
a  good  sight  for  sore  eyes.  Never  did  we  meet  up 
with  you  yet  but  there  came  a  run  of  luck." 

"  'Tis  good  hearing,"  said  O'Rourke,  smiling. 

A  slight  little  man  slipped  a  bald  head,  relieved 
by  ragged  patches  of  grey  hair  about  the  temples, 
apologetically  into  the  cabin  door.  He  wore  flap- 
ping Chinese  slippers,  a  pair  of  trousers  that 
seemed  everlastingly  on  the  point  of  slipping  their 
moorings,  and  a  thin  cotton  under-shirt,  all  satu- 
rated with  oil  and  grease.  His  thin  face,  of  a  gentle, 
kindly  cast,  streaked  with  grime,  continually  he 
swabbed  with  a  fistful  of  cotton  waste  and  praise- 
worthy intent,  accomplishing,  however,  nothing  more 
than  an  artistic  blending  of  smear  and  smudge,  until 
his  entire  countenance  was  overcast  with  a  gloomy 
shade,  through  which  his  faded  .smile  shone  like 
moonshine  through  a  mist. 

"  The   top    of    the    day    to    ye,    Dravos ! "    said 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-THREE         223 

O'Rourke  loudly,  for  little  Dravos  was  partially 
deaf.  "  And  how  are  the  engines  ?  " 

The  engineer  carefully  hitched  up  his  trousers 
and  regarded  the  wanderer  with  temperate  geni- 
ality. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Colonel  O'Rourke,"  he  replied, 
clipping  his  words  mincingly.  "  Very  nicely,  I  thank 
you."  He  shook  hands,  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  a 
birth  with  the  manner  of  one  who  fears  he  intrudes, 
and  glanced  searchingly  at  Quick.  "  If  you're  going 
to  serve  the  drinks,  cap'n,"  he  snapped  acidly, 
"  hump  yourself!  '* 

The  final  words  came  with  surprising  heat  and 
vigour.  Quick,  startled,  discontinued  lumbering 
round  O'Rourke  in  what  was  apparently  a  mild  de- 
lirium of  bliss  characterised  by  incoherent  noises  in 
the  throat,  and  jumped  to  obey  his  engineer.  Dravos 
regarded  his  huge  bulk  and  deliberate  movements 
with  something  of  acerbity,  his  expression  eloquent, 
saying  distinctly :  "  I  could  do  this  thing  better, 
more  quickly,  with  less  fuss." 

He  accepted  his  glass  with  a  dispassionate  air  and 
drank  hastily  after  a  short  nod  to  the  guest,  as  one 
who  sacrifices  his  personal  inclinations  to  the  laws 
of  hospitality.  But  from  his  after-glow  of  benevo- 
lence, O'Rourke  concluded  that  the  drink  had  not 
been  unwelcome. 

"  What  brings  you  here  ?  "  demanded  Quick  in  a 
subdued  roar. 


224,  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

"  I've  a  job  for  ye,  if  so  be  it  ye're  not  otherwise 
engaged — and  if  ye  can  do  it." 

Quick  slapped  a  huge  thigh  delightedly.  "  I 
knew  it could  have  sworn  to  it !  " 

"  Can  do  anything,"  asserted  Dravos  with  as- 
perity. 

"  'Tis  merely  a  question  of  speed,"  explained  the 
Irishman.  "  Can  ye  make  Bombay  in  four  days — 
be  the  fifteenth?" 

"  Dravos,"  roared  Quick,  "  how  much  speed  can 
you  get  out  of  those  damned  engines  ?  " 

"  Twenty  knots,"  snapped  Dravos  indignantly. 

"Ye're  joking." 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  returned  the  engineer  with 
even  more  heat. 

Quick  slouched  bulkily  in  his  chair,  eyeing  the 
ceiling  reminiscently. 

"  We  made  a  bit  of  a  strike  last  year,"  he  volun- 
teered. "  No  matter  how  nor  why  nor  where. 
Dravos  here  sunk  two-thirds  of  the  money  in  new 
engines.  They're  beauties,  all  right,"  he  conceded 
with  a  heavy  sigh.  "  And  we'll  need  them.  We're 
going  to  take  a  little  stroll  down  through  the  pearl 
fisheries  pretty  soon,  and  it  takes  good  going  to 
beat  the  patrol  these  days.  The  business  ain't  what 
it  once  was." 

Dravos  glared  at  him  furiously,  opened  his  mouth, 
changed  his  mind  and  shut  his  lips  tightly.  O'Rourke 
hastened  to  change  the  embarrassing  subject. 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-THREE 

"  When  can  you  sail?  " 

"  To-night,"  said  Dravos. 

"  If,"  stipulated  Quick,  "  I  can  pick  up  a  crew  in 
Aden." 

"  'Tis  settled  then." 

"  We'll  need  a  bit  of  money  in  advance." 

"  Ye  shall  have  it,  within  reason." 

Dravos  rose  and  sidled  towards  the  door,  a  far- 
away look  in  his  pale  eyes.  "  You  strike  the  bar- 
gain, Quick,"  he  said ;  "  I'll  have  a  look  around  the 
engine-room." 

"  Right-O,  Bobby.  .  .  .  Yourself  alone,  I 
s'pose,  O'Rourke  ?  " 

"  And  three  others.     Danny " 

"Yes,  yes." 

"  And  two  ladies ;  an  Englishwoman  and  her 
maid." 

There  fell  a  dead  silence  in  the  cabin.  Dravos 
had  halted  on  the  threshold;  he  smiled  sourly. 
Quick's  eyes  were  bulging. 

"  A  lady  and  her  maid  ?  "  he  gasped  faintly. 

"  Might've  known  it,"  commented  Dravos.  "  He's 
an  Irishman."  He  sniffed  and  passed  on. 

O'Rourke  laughed.  Quick  continued  to  eye  him 
steadily,  in  unmitigated  stupefaction.  Presently, 
as  one  in  a  dream,  he  rinsed  his  mouth  with  dregs  of 
soda-water  and  found  voice  enough  to  assert  his 
conviction  that  he  would  be  eternally  damned. 


CHAPTER 
TWENTY-FOUR 

THE  day  wore  on,  its  calm  unruffled,  its  heat  unmiti- 
gated. Toward  evening  the  unbearable  brilliance  of 
the  sky  became  tarnished  with  clouds ;  night  settled 
down,  a  pall  of  blackness  penetrated  only  by  the  ar- 
tificial glow  ashore  and  the  scattered,  uneasy  riding 
lights  in  the  roadstead.  A  dull  depression  seemed  to 
weigh  upon  the  world ;  Dravos,  coming  to  the  engine- 
room  hatchway  for  a  breathing  spell,  sniffed  the 
night  air  with  a  dubious,  wrinkled  nose,  wagged  his 
bald  head  and  morosely  prophesied  the  advent  of  the 
southwest  monsoon. 

By  nine  o'clock  the  Ranee  lay  with  steam  up, 
ready  to  weigh  anchor.  Miracles  had  been  wrought 
within  a  few  hours  aboard  that  disreputable  thou- 
sand-ton tramp.  Her  captain  had  been  ashore, 
picked  up  a  crew  and  laid  in  a  week's  supply  of  pro- 
visions, had  interviewed  the  harbour  authorities,  se- 
cured his  clearing  papers  and  attended  to  a  thou- 
sand minor  details ;  to  finance  all  of  which  O'Rourke 
advanced  money  from  his  private  purse. 

It  is  no  praise  to  Dravos  to  state  that  his  engines 
were  in  admirable  condition.  Such  was  their  invari- 

226 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-FOUR 

able  state.  For  an  assistant  he  impressed  into  serv- 
ice none  other  than  Danny  Mahone,  to  Danny's 
intense  dismay.  However,  it  was  the  O'Rourke's 
order,  and  whatsoever  the  O'Rourke  desired,  that 
Danny  did  with  a  show  of  cheerfulness,  however  dis- 
tasteful he  might  find  the  work. 

O'Rourke  took  upon  himself  the  duties  of  first 
officer  under  Captain  Quick.  The  Irishman  cared 
little  for  the  sea,  knew  less  of  a  first  officer's  duties ; 
but  it  was  patent  that  Quick  could  not  stand  every 
watch,  and  O'Rourke  was  not  to  be  daunted  by  any 
such  slight  matter  as  nautical  inexperience. 

Quarters  had  been  provided  for  Mrs.  Prynne  and 
her  maid,  Quick  not  only  surrendering  his  room,  but 
working  with  a  will  to  clear  and  cleanse  it,  in  a  sin- 
cere but  almost  hopeless  attempt  to  make  it  fit  for 
a  woman's  occupancy. 

By  nine  all  was  ready;  and  at  that  hour,  for 
the  second  time  that  day,  O'Rourke  ascended  the 
accommodation  ladder  of  the  Panjnab.  At  the 
lower  grating  there  awaited  him  one  of  the  Ranee's 
boats,  manned  by  a  brace  of  lascars  drawn  from 
Quick's  makeshift  crew:  a  sullen  pair  of  scoundrels, 
both  warned  to  hold  no  converse  with  any  of  the 
Panjnab's  men,  under  penalty,  if  discovered,  of 
O'Rourke's  extreme  displeasure;  which  they  were 
further  given  to  understand  was  no  light  matter. 

For  O'Rourke  was  anything  but  easy  in  his  mind ; 
at  intervals  all  through  the  day  there  had  been  re- 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

curring  to  him  a  sincere  regret  that  Mrs.  Prynne  had 
interfered  to  prevent  the  summary  punishment  he 
would  have  dealt  out  to  her  assailant  on  the  prome- 
nade deck. 

"  'Twas  a  mistake,  to  me  own  way  of  thinking," 
he  pondered.  "  'Tis  in  that  divvle  her  danger  lies — 
whatever  at  all  it  may  be,  which  I  meself  can't 
guess.  Sure,  the  man  had  some  motive  for  making 
that  attack.  'Tisn't  likely  at  all  he  will  have  for- 
got it.  I'm  persuaded  'tis  as  well  that  he  and  we 
are  to  continue  the  journey  be  different  ships." 

He  kept  an  eye  sharp  for  sight  of  the  lascar  aboard 
the  Panjnab,  but  .saw  nothing  of  him.  The  crippled 
steamer  was  all  but  deserted,  its  quondam  passen- 
gers having  eagerly  availed  themselves  of  the  op- 
portunity for  a  run  ashore  and  a  sojourn  at  one  of 
the  beach  hotels.  So,  meeting  practically  no  one, 
and  that  much  to  his  relief,  O'Rourke  found  his  way 
to  Mrs.  Prynne's  stateroom.  As  on  previous  occa- 
sions, his  guarded  knock  was  answered  immediately, 
and  he  observed  the  same  extreme  caution  in  the 
woman's  wary  manner  as  well  as  her  maid's  readi- 
ness. 

"  *Tis  deep,"  he  told  himself:  "a  rare  deep  mys- 
tery. I'm  thinking  meself  will  never  see  the  bottom 
of  it.  ...  Mrs.  Prynne  " — aloud — "  is  it  ready 
ye  are?  " 

The  Englishwoman's  expressive  smile  drew  atten- 
tion to  her  costume,  and  O'Rourke  was  forced  to 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-FOUR  229 

acknowledge  his  question  superfluous ;  Mrs.  Prynne 
was  prepared  for  anything. 

She  had  donned  a  serviceable  tweed  tourist  suit, 
short  of  skirt  and  cut  with  a  certain  simplicity  that 
would  have  evoked  the  comment  "  sensible  "  had  it 
been  worn  by  another  of  her  country-women.  She, 
to  the  contrary,  lent  it  an  indefinable  grace  that 
robbed  its  uncompromising  lines  of  their  severity. 
From  her  helmet  to  her  canvas  puttees  there  was  not 
a  trace  of  the  mannish;  she  showed  herself  entirely 
feminine,  wholly  charming  and — more  important 
still — dressed  precisely  as  she  should  be  to  brave  the 
hardships  of  a  voyage  on  a  tramp  of  the  Eastern 
seas. 

"  Have  you  explained  to  Captain — Captain — ?  " 

"Quick?" 

" — Captain  Quick,  that  his  bill  is  to  be  presented 
to  the  Indian  Government,  by  which  it  will  be 
promptly  paid,  in  cash?" 

"  I  have  that,  madam ;  'tis  all  settled,  and  the  cap- 
tain understands  that  he  sails  on  His  Majesty's 
business."  He  paused  and  threw  back  his  head, 
smiling  his  triumph.  "  Did  I  not  tell  ye,  madam? 
Did  ye  do  ill  to  trust  in  the  O'Rourke?  " 

"  You  shall  learn  of  my  gratitude,  colonel." 

"  Not  a  word  of  that,  if  ye  please !  The  boat's  in 
waiting  for  ye,  madam,  and  the  Ranee  is  straining 
at  her  cable  like  your  golden  greyhound  at  his  leash, 
impatient  to  be  off." 


230  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

Mrs.  Prynne  turned.  "  Cecile !  Now, 

colonel  dear,  I'm  at  your  orders." 

Three  minutes  later  the  Panjnab  was  minus  four 
more  passengers — Danny  being  already  aboard  the 
Ranee,  hearking  sulkily  enough  to  a  lecture  on  the 
rules  of  engine-room  etiquette  as  propounded  by  a 
bald-headed  wisp  of  oil-soaked  humanity — "  wid 
trousies,"  Danny  complained,  "  thot  forever  made 
ye  hopeful  of  bein*  shocked." 

The  tramp  was  riding  with  anchor  a-trip,  and 
hardly  had  Mrs.  Prynne  set  foot  upon  the  deck 
ere  the  ship  began  to  move.  Within  the  hour  Dravos' 
engines  had  settled  into  their  stride,  and  the  Ranee, 
with  a  bone  between  her  teeth,  was  stretching  down 
the  Gulf  of  Aden,  pointing  her  nose  to  the  heart  of 
the  Arabian  Sea. 

In  the  knowledge  that  they  were  safely  off  at  last 
there  was  poignant  relief  to  the  wanderer,  as  he 
stood  by  Quick's  side,  on  the  bridge,  with  midnight, 
imminent  and  the  ship  still  and  peaceful.  He  peered 
into  the  oppressive  thickness  ahead,  saw  nothing 
and  was  glad.  The  damp  air  puffing  in  his  face 
was  sharp  with  the  tang  of  the  open  sea,  sweet  with 
an  assurance  of  dangers  passed.  To  that  moment 
Mrs.  Prynne's  secret  had  weighed  upon  his  imagina- 
tion; now  it  was  a  matter  of  no  immediate  conse- 
quence. For  the  succeeding  days  there  would  be 
naught  to  do  save  to  stand  watch-and-watch  with 
Quick  and — mayhap,  indulge  in  a  bit  of  philander- 
ing, just  by  way  of  diversion. 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-FOUR  231 

The  Irishman  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  contentment: 
"Faith!"— briefly. 

"  Come  again?  "  suggested  Quick,  turning  from 
the  wheel. 

"  I  was  merely  expressing  me  pleasure  in  being 
out  of  that  mess,  captain  dear,"  explained  O'Rourke 
obscurely. 

"What  mess?" 

O'Rourke  glanced  at  the  man  at  the  wheel — a 
stalwart  lascar,  apparently  a  Malay,  erect,  self- 
contained,  impassive,  eyes  on  the  binnacle,  arms  shin- 
ing like  polished  bronze  in  the  light  of  the  lamp  as 
point  by  point  he  shifted  the  spokes.  He  seemed  ut- 
terly oblivious  to  all  save  his  duty;  nevertheless,  a 
vague  distrust  of  all  men  of  his  colour  stirred  in 
O'Rourke. 

"  A  fine  night,"  he  observed  obscurely,  glancing 
at  the  sky :  "  be  the  smell  of  it,  'tis  rain  we'll  be  hav- 
ing the  morning,  Jimmy  Quick." 

The  northern  horizon  glowed  pale  gold  for  a  long 
minute;  and  then  again  the  world  was  black.  A 
salvo  of  shocks  rattled  through  the  night-wrapped 
void. 

"  Thunderstorms,"  commented  Quick  superflu- 
ously. "  Showers  before  sun-up,  then  the  monsoon. 
You  didn't  answer  my  question,"  he  persisted  quer- 
ously.  "I  said,  what  mess?" 

O'Rourke  moved  abstractedly  to  the  far  end  of  the 
bridge,  keeping  an  eye  on  the  man  at  the  wheel. 

"  'Twas  the  divvle  of  a  mess  for  the  little  woman," 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

said  O'Rourke.  "  I'll  tell  ye  about  it,  me  boy,  but 
for  the  love  of  Hiven,  captain,  if  ye  have  to  make 
any  comments,  whisper  'em.  Then  not  more  than 
half  the  ship  will  hear." 

He  recounted  briefly,  in  crisp  phrases,  Mrs. 
Prynne's  adventure  on  the  Panjnab.  When  he  con- 
cluded Quick  whistled  softly. 

"  She  let  him  go?  "  he  iterated,  with  an  obvious 
effort  to  gentle  his  voice.  "  What'n  hell'd  she  do 
that  for?" 

"  Mainly,"  O'Rourke  speculated,  "  to  avoid  at- 
tracting attention  to  herself,  I'm  thinking.  I've  told 
ye  what  she  is." 

"  King's  courier?  Something  diplomatic,  I  sup- 
pose. Well,  probably  she  knows  her  business ; 
damned  if  I  do." 

"  Never  a  truer  word  passed  your  lips,  captain," 
laughed  O'Rourke ;  "  and  as  much  can  be  said  for 
meself." 

"  Oh,  well ! "  said  the  captain,  "  she's  got  no 
cause  to  worry  now.  We'll  pull  her  through  on  time 
or  bust  a  gallus,  O'Rourke." 

He  stepped  to  the  rail  and  leaning  over  bawled: 
"  Silence,  there ! "  And  for  a  time  peace  obtained 
amongst  the  group  of  lascars  that  had  been  squat- 
ting on  the  forward  deck,  squabbling  vociferously, 
after  the  manner  of  their  kind.  Their  disputa- 
tion, whatever  its  cause,  subsided  into  sullen  mut- 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-FOUR  233 

terings,  oddly  mocked  by  the  grumbling  thunder  be- 
low the  northern  horizon. 

Quick  shrugged  his  heavy  shoulders.  "  Always 
scrapping  like  a  pack  of  crows ! "  he  complained. 
"  I'd  give  the  mess  of  them  for  half  a  dozen  white 
men — Sou'wegians  at  that.  .  .  .  What  d'ye 
s'pose  that  fellow  was  after?  "  he  pursued,  lowering 
his  tone. 

"  'Tis  nothing  at  all  to  me,"  returned  O'Rourke ; 
"  'tis  the  lady's  secret  and  be  the  same  token  none  of 
mine."  He  yawned,  stretching  himself.  "  I'm 
thinking  'tis  bedtime." 

"  Right-O,"  assented  Quick.  The  chorus  of  the 
lascars  arose  again  in  full  angry  blast,  and  again 
the  captain  found  need  to  caution  them.  "  Stop 
that  yapping,  you "  Followed  a  lull,  as  pre- 
viously. 

"  I'll  stand  the  night  watches,"  the  captain 
took  up  the  thread  of  conversation.  "  By  morning 
we'll  be  far  enough  out  for  you  to  take  hold  without 
spraining  the  art  of  seamanship.  G'dnight." 

"  Thank  ye,"  said  O'Rourke.  In  fact,  he  had 
long  been  sensible  that  he  was  very  drowsy;  the 
night  wind  in  his  face  had  something  to  do  with  that. 
"  Good  night,"  he  returned,  and  went  down  the  lad- 
der to  the  deck. 

At  its  foot  he  paused,  turning  curiously;  it 
seemed  that  surely  there  must  be  some  serious  trouble 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

afoot  in  the  crew.  They  were  at  it  again,  with  a 
more  ugly  note  in  their  yelping.  The  Irishman 
could  see  in  the  glimmer  of  the  forecastle  lantern  a 
confused  blur  of  naked,  shining,  brown  bodies  and 
limbs,  apparently  inextricably  locked.  A  scream 
rang  shrill  and  there  followed  the  sound  of  a  heavy 
fall. 

Overhead,  on  the  bridge,  Quick  was  roaring  him- 
self hoarse,  without  effect.  The  sounds  of  shuffling, 
of  blows,  harsh-breathing,  stifled  cries,  continued. 
A  knot  of  the  contestants  swept,  whirling,  aft  to- 
ward the  superstructure.  Something  shot  singing 
through  the  air;  the  wind  of  it  fanned  O'Rourke's 
cheek. 

With  an  unconscious,  surprised  oath,  O'Rourke 
stepped  aside,  his  hand  going  toward  his  revolver. 
The  missile  struck  a  stanchion,  glanced  and  fell 
clattering  into  the  scuppers.  Revolver  in  hand,  he 
went  forward  to  the  rail,  overlooking  the  struggling 
rabble  on  the  deck  below.  But  they  seemed  intent 
only  on  their  private  differences,  and  Quick's  roars 
were  bringing  them  to  their  senses.  Gradually  the 
tumult  subsided,  the  contestants  separating  and 
slinking  forward  to  their  quarters. 

"  It  may  have  been  chance,"  O'Rourke  conceded 
a  bit  doubtfully.  He  swung  about  and  moved  aft 
slowly,  examining  the  deck  intently.  In  a  moment 
or  two  he  stopped  and  picked  up  a  long,  thin- 
bladed  knife,  double-edged  and  keen  as  a  razor. 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-FOUR  235 

The  point  was  broken,  having  doubtless  been  snapped 
off  at  the  moment  of  contact  with  the  deck-house. 
O'Rourke  turned  it  over  soberly. 

"  Faith,  I  don't  like  to  think  it  was  intentional — 
but  me  head  would  have  been  split  had  it  come  two 
inches  to  the  left." 

He  returned  to  the  bridge,  calling  Quick  aside. 
«  You're  armed?  " 

"  Certainly — always  armed  when  I'm  dealing  with 
these  devils.  Why?" 

O'Rourke  showed  him  the  knife.  Quick  laughed 
at  his  theory.  "  Nothing  in  it,"  he  was  pleased  to 
believe.  Nevertheless,  before  he  turned  in,  the  wan- 
derer clambered  down  the  iron  ladders  to  the  en- 
gine-room for  a  conference  with  Dravos  and  ftanny. 
He  lay  down  under  arms  and  only  fell  asleep  after  a 
long  period  of  wakefulness  troubled  by  dark  fore- 
bodings. Ordinarily,  too,  his  slumbers  were  sound 
enough,  whatever  the  circumstances,  but  this  night 
he  awoke,  writhing  in  the  grip  of  nightmare,  dream- 
ing that  the  Pool  of  Flame  had  turned  into  a  ball  of 
malignant  fire  and  was  burning  a  hole  through  his 
breast,  working  with  purpose  towards  his  heart.  A 
clutch  at  the  chamois  bag  beneath  his  left  arm,  how- 
ever, assured  him  that  it  was  safe — and  cool  enough, 
for  that  matter.  And  he  turned  and  slept  again. 


CHAPTER 
TWENTY-FIVE 

THE  day  came  out  of  the  East  with  a  windy  swag- 
ger; as  Quick  had  foretold,  a  series  of  thunder- 
storms swept  the  sea  before  dawn,  so  that  it,  like 
the  sky,  seemed  newly  washed,  clean  and  brilliant. 
The  watery  waste  stretched  wide  and  vacant  before 
the  Ranee's  bows,  untenanted  by  sail,  unsmudged 
by  smoke.  The  waves,  breaking  out  here  and  there 
with  glistening  froth,  raced  the  ship  eastwards, 
running  before  the  monsoon.  As  the  hours  length- 
ened, the  temperature  rose,  making  an  awning 
nothing  to  be  despised,  yet  the  clearness  of  the 
atmosphere,  the  absence  of  humidity  and  the  strong, 
sweet  breath  of  the  trade  wind  tempered  the  sun's 
ardour  and  made  it  a  day  to  be  marked  with  a 
white  stone  for  the  sense  of  purely  animal  well- 
being  it  induced. 

O'Rourke  relieved  Quick  at  four  bells  of  the 
morning  watch  and  kept  the  deck  for  the  remainder 
of  the  day,  his  meals  being  brought  to  him  on  the 
bridge.  His  duties  were  simple  enough,  requiring 
little  more  than  a  display  of  the  habit  of  authority 
which  sat  so  well  on  his  broad  shoulders.  It  was 

236 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-FIVE  237 

no  great  trick  to  keep  the  crew  in  order:  they  went 
about  their  work  peaceably  enough  and  showed  no 
signs  of  desiring  to  renew  their  disputations.  Oth- 
erwise he  had  to  keep  an  eye  upon  the  helmsman 
and  see  that  he  held  the  Ranee  to  the  course  pre- 
scribed by  Quick ;  and  that  was  nothing  difficult  to 
a  man  of  average  intelligence.  Naught  but  deep 
water  lay  between  them  and  Bombay,  so  long  as  a 
direct  course  was  shaped  and  maintained. 

As  the  sunlit  watches  wore  out  and  nothing  un- 
toward took  place,  O'Rourke's  grim  apprehen- 
sions dissipated  into  shadows.  He  began  to  believe 
with  Quick  that  the  affair  of  the  winged  knife  was 
merely  a  hapchance  accident,  quite  unpremeditated. 
Lascars  do  use  knives  promiscuously:  the  knife  is 
their  law  and  their  leveller,  making  all  men  equal. 
And  it's  as  dangerous  to  figure  as  an  innocent  by- 
stander when  lascars  start  in  to  arbitrate  their  dis- 
putes as  it  is  to  play  that  role  at  a  "  gun-fight " 
in  a  Western  mining  camp. 

O'Rourke  breathed  more  freely  as  this  view  of 
the  matter  obtruded  itself  the  more  insistently  upon 
his  judgment.  The  one  blot  on  his  satisfaction 
with  the  swing  of  his  world  was  the  fact  that  Mrs. 
Prynne  had  pleaded  indisposition  as  an  excuse  for 
keeping  to  her  berth  the  day  long. 

Below  decks,  Dravos  and  Danny  were  standing 
watch-and-watch,  with  clockwork  regularity,  where 
the  former's  beloved  engines  were  justifying  his. 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

confidence  and  pride  in  them  and  clicking  off  their 
twenty  knots  without  a  hitch. 

Now  Danny  happened  to  have  "  off "  the  first 
afternoon  watch.  O'Rourke  from  the  bridge  saw 
him  come  up  the  engine-room  companion  ladder, 
dive  into  the  messroom  for  his  dinner,  and  later 
emerge,  picking  his  teeth  and  grinning  self-com- 
placency until  his  master  could  have  kicked  him, 
had  such  a  course  been  politic  before  the  crew  or 
even  consistent  with  the  dignity  of  his  office.  It 
appeared  that  his  sage  counsel  as  to  the  wisdom  of 
abstinence  from  flirtation  had  been  wasted  upon 
the  servant,  or  else  Cecile  had  proven  herself  quite 
irresistible. 

Cecile  herself  presently  came  on  deck  for  a  breath 
of  air,  and  spent  ten  minutes  leaning  her  dark  head 
entirely  too  close  to  Danny's  shoulder,  while  the 
pair  of  them  watched  the  foamy  smother  kicked  up 
by  the  screw.  Recalled  to  a  sense  of  duty,  she 
fluttered  away  to  her  mistress,  and  Danny  strolled 
forward,  beaming.  O'Rourke  caught  glimpses  of 
him  from  time  to  time  as  he  sauntered  here  and 
there  about  the  ship,  smoking  and  eyeing  the  las- 
cars  with  ill-concealed  contempt;  but  it  was  close 
upon  eight  bells  again  before  the  valet  hailed  him, 
with  a  truly  nautical  pull  at  his  forelock  and 
an  impudent  grin,  from  the  foot  of  the  bridge 
ladder. 

"  What     d'ye     want,     Don     Juan  ? "     demanded 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-FIVE  239 

O'Rourke  with  irony  that  was  wasted  upon  the 
boy. 

"  A  word  to  say  to  ye,  sor,  if  I  may  make  so 
bold." 

O'Rourke  glanced  at  the  helmsman,  and  having 
long  since  made  up  his  mind  that  the  man  was 
competent,  left  him  in  possession  of  the  bridge 
for  a  space,  and  joined  Danny  below. 

"What  is   it,  ye  gay  deceiver?" 

Danny  lowered  his  voice  to  a  hoarse  whisper. 
"  Kape  yer  eye  on  thot  black  divvle  up  there,  sor, 
for  the  love  of  Hiven,  and  don't  look  surprised 
at  anything " 

O'Rourke  moved  a  few  paces  aft,  along  the  rail, 
to  a  point  whence  he  could  see  the  head  and  shoul- 
ders of  the  helmsman.  "  Well  ?  " 

"  'Tis  nawthin'  I  cud  swear  to,  sor,  but  'tis  me- 
self  thot's  mortal  leary  av  these  naygurs — rayspicts 
to  ye — and — and " 

"  Come,   come !     Out   with  it,   Danny." 

"  Sure,  sor,  'tis  the  serang.  Have  ye  chanced  to 
notice  him,  sor?  " 

O'Rourke  glanced  down  to  the  fore  deck,  where 
the  personage  in  question  was  standing  at  ease. 
"  What  of  him  ?  "  he  inquired,  running  his  eye  over 
the  fellow's  superb  proportions.  Indeed,  he  tow- 
ered head  and  shoulders  above  his  fellows,  over 
whom  he  exercised  a  boatswain's  authority.  He 
was  staring  out  to  sea,  his  brown  arms  naked  to 


240  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

the  shoulder  and  folded  across  his  breast,  the  mus- 
cles and  tendons  of  his  long,  gaunt  legs  standing 
out  like  steed  bands.  A  dirty  turban  was  wrapped 
about  his  head  and  a  gaily  coloured  sash,  much 
the  worse  for  wear,  concealed  his  breech-clout  and 
the  lower  part  of  his  thin,  blue  cotton  chirt.  His 
pose  was  one  of  natural,  unaffected  dignity,  and 
something  thoughtful. 

"What    of    him?"    repeated   O'Rourke. 

"  'Tis  nawthin'  I'd  take  me  oath  to,  sor,  but  I'm 
thinkin'  he's  the  man  who  boarded  the  Panjnab 
at  Suez,  sor.  And  as  for  the  naygur  I  run  against 
on  the  s'loon  deck,  yer  honour,  he's  his  mortal 
twin." 

"  Ah,"  commented  O'Rourke.  "  Thank  you, 
Danny." 

He  continued  to  watch  the  serang  until  the  lat- 
ter, as  if  influenced  by  the  fixity  of  the  Irishman's 
regard,  turned  and  stared  directly  into  O'Rourke's 
eyes.  For  a  full  minute  he  gave  him  look  for  look, 
dark  eyes  steadfast  and  unyielding  above  his  fine 
aquiline  nose,  then  calmly  turned  his  back,  resum- 
ing his  contemplation  of  the  turbulent  horizon. 

An  instant  later  Quick  came  up  to  relieve 
O'Rourke,  and,  eight  bells  sounding,  Danny 
dived  below  to  take  Dravos'  place.  O'Rourke,  un- 
pleasantly impressed  by  the  incident,  still  forbore 
to  mention  it  to  either  of  the  ship's  owners ;  he 
retired  to  think  it  over,  and  spent  a  long  hour 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-FIVE  241 

consuming  an  indifferent  cigar  and  studying  the 
cracks  in  the  bulkhead  between  his  room  and  the 
cabin. 

Without  profit,  however.  Lacking  more  substan- 
tial proof  than  Danny's  suspicions,  he  could  arrive 
at  no  definite  conclusion.  It  was  possible,  of  course, 
that  the  lascar  who  had  attacked  Mrs.  Prynne, 
divining  O'Rourke's  purpose,  had  gone  ashore  at 
Arden,  and,  putting  himself  in  Quick's  way,  had  suc- 
ceeded in  securing  the  position  of  serang.  But  this 
argued  almost  supernatural  powers  of  divination  on 
the  lascar's  part,  unless  he  had  managed  to  overhear 
O'Rourke's  conversation  with  Mrs.  Prynne  imme- 
diately after  the  accident.  And  then  O'Rourke  re- 
called that  Danny  had  met  the  lascar  coming  from 
the  direction  of  the  woman's  stateroom. 

All  things  were  possible,  all  improbable.  O'Rourke 
reserved  judgment,  meanwhile  urged  to  a  more 
scrupulous  watchfulness.  He  said  nothing  of  the 
matter  to  Mrs.  Prynne — who  emerged  quite  radiant 

from  her  long  rest  to  dine  with  him and  kept  his 

fears  from  the  captain. 

The  night  passed  without  incident ;  the  second  day 
dawned  the  counterpart  of  its  predecessor,  and  wore 
away  quietly  enough.  The  ship's  company  seemed 
to  have  settled  down  to  routine,  in  the  confidence 
that  their  voyage  was  to  be  a  normal  one.  Barring 
himself  and  possibly  Danny — though  Danny  was 
habitually  thoughtless  and  the  Irishman's  own  ap- 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

prehensions  were  becoming  lulled — none  had  grounds 
for  any  fears  to  the  contrary,  thought  O'Rourke 
in  his  error. 

It  fell  to  him  to  stand  the  first  dog-watch, 
from  four  to  six  in  the  evening.  Shortly  after 
he  ascended  the  bridge,  it  was  his  happiness  to  be 
joined  by  Mrs.  Prynne,  who  improved  the  moment 
to  express  her  gratification  with  the  propitious  tide 
in  her  affairs.  The  King's  courier  was  pleased  to 
declare  herself  very  well  pleased  indeed,  though  she 
admitted,  under  jocular  pressure,  that  she  consid- 
ered she  was  roughing  it.  Captain  Quick's  quarters 
were  by  no  means  palatial,  and  the  bill  of  fare, 
while  substantially  composed,  lacked  something  of 
variety;  but  that  was  all  a  part  of  the  great  and 
fascinating  game  she  played — the  game  of  secret 
service  to  His  Majesty,  Edward  VII. 

Not  that  alone,  but  she  was  comforted  by  the 
assurance  that  her  voyage  would  soon  be  over,  her 
mission  discharged,  her  responsibility  a  thing  of  the 
past.  She  would  be  glad  to  see  Bombay. 

"  One  never  knows,  you  know,  Colonel  O'Rourke," 
she  said  with  a  little  gesture  expressive  of  her  allow- 
ance for  the  unforeseen. 

O'Rourke  divined  she  had  something  on  her  mind 
which  she  hesitated  to  voice,  though  they  were  prac- 
tically alone;  the  man  at  the  wheel  was  a  nonen- 
tity— a  bronze  statue  in  a  faded  shirt,  ragged  tur- 
ban and  soiled  cummerbund. 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-FIVE  243 

"  Then  'tis  yourself  will  be  glad,  I  gather,  to 
be  rid  of  us,  madam?  " 

She  smiled,  deprecatory.  "  What  would  you  ?  " 
she  asked  in  French,  with  a  significant  glance  up 
into  O'Rourke's  eyes — a  glance  that,  implying,  as 
it  did,  a  certain  amount  of  intimacy,  a  mutual  un- 
derstanding, a  barrier  down  between  them,  in  other 
days  would  fairly  have  distracted  the  Irishman. 
But  now  it  served  only  to  remind  him  of  other  eyes 
that  had  coquetry  for  him  alone. 

"  It's  not  precisely  pleasant  to  be  constantly  ap- 
prehensive," the  woman  continued  in  the  same 
tongue,  "  even  when  one  has  a  Colonel  O'Rourke  to 
look  to  for  protection." 

"  Ah,  madame ! "  expostulated  the  wanderer. 
"  But  what  makes  ye  so  positive  I'd  not  turn  tail 
and  run  away  from  any  real  danger?  " 

She  gave  him  a  look  that  brimmed  with  mirth. 
"  A  man  who  is  a  coward,"  she  said  slowly,  "  doesn't 
stand  still  and  draw  a  revolver  when  a  heavy  knife 
is  thrown  at  his  head." 

"Quick  told  ye,  madam?" 

"  No,  I  saw — heard  the  quarrelling  on  the  forward 
deck  and  got  to  the  companionway  in  time  to  see 
what  happened.  Had  you  not  been  so  intent  on 
your  search  for  the  knife,  you  would  have  seen  me. 
As  it  was,  I  slipped  below  again  without  attracting 
attention." 

"But  why?" 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

"  To  get  my  revolver,  monsieur  le  colonel" 

"  'Twas  naught  but  an  accident " 

"You  do  not  believe  that  yourself,  colonel  dear; 
for  my  part,  I " 

"Well?" 

"  Someone  tried  my  door  last  night,  after  you'd 
retired." 

"  Ye  are  sure  ?  "  doubted  O'Rourke,  disturbed. 

"  Quite.  I  was  awake — thinking ;  I  heard  you 
come  below  and  close  your  door  at  eight  bells; 
long  after  there  were  footsteps — someone  walking 
in  his  bare  feet — in  the  saloon.  Then  the  knob  was 
turned,  very  gently.  Fortunately,  the  door  was 
bolted;  someone  put  a  shoulder  to  it,  but  it  held 
fast.  I  caught  up  my  revolver — indeed  and  I  am 
very  reckless  with  it,  sir ! — and  opened  the  door  my- 
self. The  saloon  was  quite  empty." 

"  Ye  shouldn't  have  risked  that " 

"  I  had  to  know,  with  so  much  at  stake,"  she 
said  simply. 

O'Rourke  endeavoured  to  manufacture  a  plausi- 
ble and  reassuring  explanation  to  the  fact.  "  Quick, 
Danny,  or  Dravos,  mistaking  their  rooms " 

"  It  was  none  of  them.  Captain  Quick  was  on 
deck;  I  heard  his  voice  almost  simultaneously;  surely 
I  couldn't  mistake  that."  She  laughed.  "  Nor 
would  your  man  or  Mr.  Dravos  have  been  so  stealthy, 
so  instant  to  escape." 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-FIVE  245 


"  But— but- 


"  My  theory,  if  you  will  have  it,  is  that  mine 
enemy  of  the  Panjnab  is  one  of  the  crew  of  the 
Ranee,  monsieur." 

Mrs.  Prynne  made  this  statement  as  quietly  as 
though  she  were  commenting  on  the  weather.  But 
her  belief  chimed  so  exactly  with  his  own  that 
O'Rourke  was  stricken  witless  and  at  a  loss  to  frame 
a  satisfactory  refutation.  He  was  silent  for  -some 
moments,  his  lips  a  thin  hard  line,  a  crinkle  of  anxi- 
ety between  his  brows. 

"  If  ye'd  only  permitted  me  to  attend  to 
him "  he  growled  at  length. 

"  You  are  right,"  she  admitted,  "  but — I  am 
desolated — the  mischief's  done." 

"Faith,  yes!"  he  sighed  dejectedly.  His  gaze 
roved  the  deck  and  fastened  upon  the  serang.  "  It 
might  be  any  one  of  them,"  he  considered  aloud. 

"  Any  one.     For  instance,  though — the  serang?  " 

"  Why  d'ye  suspect  him  more  than  another? " 
he  demanded,  startled. 

"  Call  it  feminine  intuition,  if  you  like.  The  man 
looks  capable  of  anything." 

"  Yes.     But  sure,  there's  no  telling  at  all." 

"  No  telling,"  she  concurred  quietly.  "  We  can  but 
wait,  watch,  hope  that  I  imagined  the  hand  at  my 
door." 

"  There  might  be  something  in  that." 


246  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

"  I  am  neither  nervous  nor  an  imaginative  woman." 
"  At  all  events,  I'll  go  bail  'twill  not  happen  a 
second  time." 

"  How  do  you  propose  to  prevent  it  ?  " 
"  Sure,  the   simplest  way  in  the  world.     I  my- 
self will  stand  guard  in  the  saloon,  madam." 

*'  But  no,  monsieur ;  I  can  better  afford  to  lose 
a  little  sleep  than  have  you  forfeit  your  rest.  Be- 
sides, I  have  Cecile  .  .  ." 

There  ensued  an  argument  without  termination; 
he  remained  obdurate,  she  insistent.  Only  the  ap- 
pearance of  Quick  on  the  stroke  of  four  bells  forced 
them  to  shelve  the  subject.  It  was  resumed  at  the 
dinner  table  and  carried  out  in  a  light  manner  of 
banter  for  a  time,  dropped  and  forgotten,  appar- 
ently, by  all  but  O'Rourke. 


CHAPTER 
TWENTY-SIX 

THE  night  fell  clear  as  crystal  and  wonderfully 
bright  with  stars ;  the  wind  went  down  with  the  sun, 
then  rose  again  refreshed  and  waxed  to  half  a  gale. 
At  midnight  O'Rourke,  leaving  the  bridge,  left  the 
Ranee  driving  steadily  through  a  racing  sea, 
through  a  world  noisy  with  the  crisp  rattle  and 
crash  of  breaking  crests. 

Fortifying  himself  with  strong  coffee,  the  ad- 
venturer settled  himself  in  a  chair  by  the  foot  of 
the  companionway  steps  leading  up  from  the  tiny 
saloon  that  served  as  dining-room  for  all  but  the 
crew  of  the  tramp.  From  this  position  he  com- 
manded both  entrances,  port  and  starboard,  from 
the  upper  deck,  as  well  as  the  doors  that  flanked 
them  on  either  hand,  to  the  quarters  occupied  by 
Mrs.  Prynne  and  to  Dravos'  stateroom,  which  was 
empty  and  would  be  so  until  the  next  change  of 
watch. 

The  succeeding  hours  dragged  interminably,  quiet 
and  uneventful. 

About  six  bells  the  moon  got  up,  and  its  rays,  fil- 
tering through  the  heavy-ribbed  glass  of  the  sky- 

247 


248  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

light,  filled  the  saloon  with  an  opalescent  shimmer 
that  assorted  incongruously  with  the  dull  glow  of 
the  electric  bulbs — dull,  because  there  was  some- 
thing wrong  with  the  dynamo,  according  to  Dravos. 

O'Rourke,  weary  and  yawning,  watched  the  milky 
rainbow  dance  upon  the  half-opaque  glass  overhead 
for  several  moments  before  it  conveyed  to  him  a 
warning.  Then  immediately  he  abandoned  his  seat 
and  stretched  himself  out  upon  a  transom  against 
the  after  bulkhead,  whence  he  could  see  something 
less  of  the  upper  gangway,  but  sufficient  for  his 
purposes.  For  his  chair  had  been  beneath  the  sky- 
light, and  the  wings  of  that  were  open  for  venti- 
lation. 

"  'Tis  safer  here,"  he  considered.  "  There'll  be 
no  dropping  one  of  those  long  knives  on  me  now, 
be  premeditated  inadvertence,  I'm  thinking." 

He  gaped  tremendously.  The  peace  of  the  night, 
the  singing  of  the  waves  against  the  Ranee's  sides, 
the  deep  throb  and  unbroken  surge  of  her  engines. 
and  the  sustained,  clear  note  of  the  monsoon  in  her 
wire  rigging — these  combined  with  physical  fatigue 
to  soothe  the  man,  to  lull  him  into  fantastic  bor- 
derland of  dreams.  Yet  such  was  his  command  of 
self  that  he  would  not  yield  to  the  caressing  touch 
of  drowsiness,  but  merely  lay  motionless  and  at 
rest,  communing  with  his  fancy.  And  that  led  him 
out  of  the  sordid  saloon  of  the  Ranee  across  the  seas 
that  lay  ahead  of  that  ship's  prow,  to  the  fair 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-SIX  249 

land  whither  he  was  to  convey  the  Pool  of 
Flame.  .  .  . 

Abruptly  he  leapt  to  his  feet,  wide  awake  and 
raging. 

A  blow  was  still  sounding  through  the  saloon,  a 
dull  crash.  Buried  half  way  to  the  hilt  in  the  bulk- 
head back  of  the  transom  a  knife  quivered.  In- 
stinctively the  wanderer's  fingers  had  closed  upon 
the  grip  of  his  revolver.  He  pulled  the  trigger 
almost  before  he  realised  what  had  happened  and 
sent  a  bullet  winging  toward  a  spot  on  the  gangway 
above  where  a  pair  of  long  brown  legs  had  been  but 
now  were  not.  On  the  heels  of  that  fruitless  shot 
he  sent  another,  this  time  with  no  murderous  in- 
tent, but  to  warn  the  captain  on  the  bridge.  Here 
at  last  was  an  issue  forced,  animus  proven,  assas- 
sination indisputably  attempted. 

He  sprang  for  the  companionway,  was  half  way 
up  it  in  a  thought,  his  heart  hot  within  him,  mouth 
dry  with  thirst  for  that  lascar's  blood.  Not  a 
third  time  should  the  man  escape  his  judgment  at 
the  hands  of  O'Rourke,  he  swore. 

A  stentorian  roar  saluted  him  as  he  gained  the 

deck a  bellow  choked  and  ending  in  a  sickening 

gurgle.  O'Rourke  in  a  flash  swung  on  his  heel. 
Simultaneously  he  came  face  to  face  with  Quick.  He 
could  have  cried  aloud  in  pity. 

The  captain  swayed  before  him,  a  massively  built 
figure  clothed  all  in  white,  huge  arms  trembling  to- 


250  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

wards  his  head,  revolver  dropping  from  a  nerveless 
hand,  his  chin  fallen  forward  on  his  chest,  a  stupid, 
weary  smile  on  his  face,  and  a  dark  and  hideous 
smear  spreading  swiftly  over  the  bosom  of  his 
shirt. 

A  cry  of  horror,  despair  and  rage  stuck  in  the 
wanderer's  throat.  Quick,  who  had  hailed  his  ap- 
pearance on  the  Ranee  at  Aden  as  a  harbinger  of 
good  luck,  had  been  foully  murdered.  His  domi- 
nant emotion  of  the  moment,  an  intense  and  pitiful 
solicitude  for  the  dying  man,  threw  him  off  his  guard. 
Under  its  influence  he  forgot  the  desperate  case  to 
which  this  tragedy  brought  all  aboard  the  Ranee, 
put  out  his  arms,  received  the  falling  body,  and  let 
it  gently  to  the  deck. 

But  in  a  trice  he  was  alive  again  to  his  own  peril. 
In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  he  saw  a  flash  of  light 
gliding  towards  him  with  resistless  impetus.  In- 
tuitively he  swung  to  one  side,  to  the  right,  and 
leapt  to  his  feet.  At  that  the  knife,  a  kris  sinuous 
and  keen,  ran  cold  upon  the  flesh  of  his  chest,  slit 
through  his  shirt,  caught  in  the  thong  that  held 
the  Pool  of  Flame,  and  tore  out,  leaving  a  flapping 
hole  and  scraping  a  hand's  breadth  of  skin  from 
his  forearm.  Heedless  of  this,  only  in  fact  subcon- 
sciously aware  that  the  chamois  bag  had  fallen 
to  the  deck,  he  caught  at  the  hand  that  had  wielded 
the  kris ;  his  fingers  closed  about  the  wrist,  and,  brac- 
ing himself,  he  swung  the  assassin  off  his  feet.  So 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-SIX  251 

doing,  his  fingers  slipped  on  the  man's  greasy  skin 
and  he  stumbled  off  his  balance. 

His  object,  however,  had  been  accomplished.  The 
murderer,  hurled  a  yard  or  more  through  the  air, 
fell  and  slid  along  the  deck  into  a  group  of  lascars, 
one  of  whom,  like  a  nine-pin,  was  knocked  over  and 
fell  atop  of  him. 

O'Rourke  recovered  and  stepped  forward,  revolver 
poised  to  administer  the  quietus  to  the  murderer — 
an  amiable  intention  which  was,  however,  doomed 
to  frustration.  With  almost  inconceivable  swift- 
ness the  group  of  lascars  had  become  a  mere  tangle 
of  arms  and  legs,  a  melange  of  struggling  limbs 
and  bodies.  Where  he  had  thought  to  find  a  single 
prostrate  form,  there  were  six  struggling  in  con- 
fusion on  the  deck. 

For  a  thought  he  stayed  his  finger  on  the  trigger, 
waiting  to  pick  out  the  undermost  and  slay  him 
first  of  all,  unwilling,  furthermore,  to  waste  one  of 
the  four  invaluable  cartridges  remaining  in  his  re- 
volver. And  then — unexpectedly  the  tragedy  seemed 
over  and  done  with  altogether. 

From  the  bottom  of  the  heap  of  bodies  a  terrible 
cry  of  mortal  anguish  shrilled  loud;  and  almost  at 
once  the  mob  seemed  to  resolve  into  its  original 
elements.  Five  lascars  crawled,  arose,  or  flung  them- 
selves away  from  the  sixth,  who  lay  inert,  prone, 
limbs  still  twitching,  a  knife  buried  in  his  back. 

For  a  thought  the  tableau  held,  there  in  the  pure 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

brilliance  of  the  moonlight:  the  half  a  dozen  stand- 
ing figures,  O'Rourke  a  space  apart  from  the  rest, 
and  two  bodies,  the  .one  face  down,  Quick  with  a 
face  to  the  stars,  each  with  its  dread  background: 
a  black  stain  that  grew  and  spread  slowly  upon 
the  white,  dazzling  planks. 

Quietly  the  tallest  of  the  lascars  moved  for- 
ward, knelt  and  drew  the  knife  from  the  back  of 
his  dead  fellow.  He  straightened  up,  facing 
O'Rourke  without  a  tremor,  his  eyes  afire,  and  wiped 
the  blade  of  the  kris  on  his  cummerbund. 

"  Do  not  shoot,  sahib,"  he  said  smoothly  in  excel- 
lent English.  "  Do  not  shoot,  sahib,  for  it  is  I  who 
have  avenged.  This  dog,"  and  with  his  toe  he 
stirred  the  thing  at  his  feet,  "  ran  amok.  Now  he 
is  dead." 

This  was  the  serang  who  spoke.  O'Rourke  eyed 
him  coldly  through  a  prolonged  silence.  At  length, 
"  That  seems  quite  evident,"  he  admitted  coolly. 
"  Pick  up  that  body  and  throw  it  overboard ! "  he 
commanded  sharply. 

In  obedience  to  a  sign  from  the  serang,  two  of 
the  lascars  seized  the  body.  A  subsequent  splash 
overside  told  the  Irishman  that  his  order  had  been 
carried  out.  But  he  heard  it  abstractedly,  con- 
fronted as  he  was  with  a  problem  whose  difficulty 
was  not  to  be  underestimated,  the  problem  embodied 
in  the  statuesque,  imperturbable  serang. 

It  was  hard  to  know  what  to  do,  what  to  believe, 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-SIX  253 

what  action  to  take.  If  he  were  right  in  his  sur- 
mise, the  serang  should  rightly  be  shot  down  in- 
stantly, without  an  instant's  respite.  Yet  the  heart- 
less brutality  upon  which  his  theory  was  based  made 
him  hesitate.  It  was  difficult  to  believe  that  the 
serang  had  been  able  to  accomplish  what  O'Rourke 
was  inclined  to  credit  him  with:  that  he,  the  wielder 
of  the  kris,  the  murderer  of  Quick,  thrown  off  his 
feet  by  the  Irishman's  attack,  had  deliberately  in- 
volved his  fellows  with  him  in  his  fall  and  profited 
by  the  confusion  to  slay  one  upon  whom  he  could 
throw  the  blame  for  all  that  had  happened. 

The  weapon  quivered  in  O'Rourke's  grasp.  More 
than  once  in  that  brief  debate  he  was  tempted  to 
shoot  the  fellow  on  suspicion.  Yet  he  held  his  hand ; 
he  could  not  be  positive.  With  every  circumstance 
against  him,  he  might  still  be  telling  the  truth.  The 
whole  horrible  affair  might  boil  down  to  nothing 
more  than  an  insane  crime  of  a  crazy  Malay,  one 
who,  as  the  serang  claimed,  had  "  run  amok." 

He  had  not  made  up  his  mind,  when  his  thoughts 
were  given  a  new  turn  by  a  new  complication,  in 
the  shape  of  Mrs.  Prynne  herself.  That  lady  came 
up  the  companion  steps  with  no  apparent  hesita- 
tion, no  fear  or  apprehension ;  quietly  and  confidently 
alert,  on  the  other  hand,  she  was  visibly  armed  and 
prepared  against  danger  in  whatever  form  she  might 
have  to  encounter  it. 

She   came    directly   to    the   adventurer,   without 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

so  much  as  a  glance  for  the  group  of  lascars  or  the 
grim  evidences  of  tragedy  upon  the  deck.  O'Rourke 
shut  his  teeth  with  exasperation.  Whatever  he  de- 
cided to  believe  of  the  serang,  whether  his  judgment 
said  of  the  man,  "  Guilty,"  or  "  Not  guilty,"  he 
dared  risk  nothing  with  the  woman  present.  He 
could  not  tell  what  hell  of  murder  and  mutiny  he 
might  not  let  loose  upon  the  Ranee,  did  he  make 
one  ill-advised  or  hasty  move.  Alone,  he  could  have 
faced  the  situation  with  equanimity:  with  the 
woman  by  his  side,  he  felt  as  though  handcuffed. 

"You  are  hurt,  Colonel  O'Rourke?" 

"  A  mere  scratch,  madam — an  inch  of  skin  shaved 
off  me  arm.  Be  good  enough  to  return  to  the  saloon, 
waken  Danny  and  send  him  to  me." 

She  ignored  the  curtness  of  his  tone,  even  as  she 
ignored  his  wish.  "What  has  happened?"  she  de- 
manded, ranging  herself  by  his  side.  "  Who  is 
that — there  on  the  deck  ?  "  Her  voice  rising  a  note, 
foreboded  hysteria. 

"  Quick — stabbed.  I  didn't  want  ye  to  see.  !A! 
lascar  ran  amok,  cut  down  the  captain,  was  killed 
himself — kindness,"  the  irrepressible  humourist  broke 
out,  "  of  our  little  brown  brother,  the  serang." 

His  eyes  never  left  the  latter ;  not  for  an  instant 
did  he  take  his  attention  from  the  cluster  of  dark 
figures ;  he  was  more  than  every  ready  to  defend 
himself  should  they  make  any  overt  move,  deem- 
ing his  attention  distracted. 


"  She   was   visibly   armed    and   prepared    against 

danger  in  whatever. form  she  might 

have  to  encounter  it " 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-SIX  255 

"What  will  you  do?" 

"  How  can  I  say  ?  Do  ye,  for  the  love  of  God, 
get  below  and  leave  me  to  deal  with  these  fiends  in 
me  own  fashion." 

"  Which,"  she  returned  equably,  "  is  precisely 
what  I  shall  not  do." 

"  If  that's  the  case,"  he  said  brusquely,  "  have 
the  kindness  to  hand  me  the  revolver  by  the  cap- 
tain's side,  and — ye  might  see  if  the  poor  fellow 
still  lives." 

He  heard  a  quick  rustle  of  skirts  and  the  woman's 
hand  closed  over  his,  pressing  into  his  palm  the 
weapon  he  had  desired.  As  promptly,  without  fur- 
ther words,  she  turned  to  Quick. 

The  adventurer  deliberated  briefly,  while  she  bent 
over  the  captain,  making  a  hurried  examination. 
"  He  is  badly  wounded,"  O'Rourke  heard  her  say,  as 
he  arrived  at  his  decision,  "  but  not  dead." 

"  Praise  God  for  that !  .  .  .  I  must  ask  ye, 
madam,  to  back  me  up.  It  is  necessary  to  clear 
the  decks.  Are  ye  ready?  "  He  saw,  out  of  the  tail 
of  his  eye,  that  she  had  sprung  to  her  feet.  "  Now, 
ye  curs,"  he  thundered,  with  a  menacing  pistol  in 
either  hand,  "  get  forward,  the  lot  of  ye.  Move,  ye 
blackguards ! " 

They  went  expeditiously,  crowding  between  the 
deck-house  and  the  rail,  huddling  together  as  if  for 
mutual  protection.  The  serang  was  the  last  to  move, 
and  went  reluctantly,  or  seemed  to. 


256  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

Yet  that  was  no  time  to  judge  him  for  a  minor 
fault.  O'Rourke  herded  the  pack  before  him, 
watched  them  scramble  down  the  ladder  to  the  fore- 
deck,  then  backed  to  the  spot  where  the  woman  stood 
above  the  captain.  His  arm  was  paining  him  some- 
what, with  the  irritating,  stinging  ache  that  such 
wounds  produce,  and  he  thrust  one  revolver  into 
his  pocket,  clasping  a  hand  above  the  hurt. 

In  a  flash  realisation  of  his  loss  came  to  him ;  he 
clutched  the  rail  with  a  cry.  The  Pool  of  Flame, 
his  sacred  trust,  was  gone!  His  eyes  searched  the 
deck  wildly,  but  found  no  trace  of  the  round  leather 
bag  with  its  precious  burden.  Despair  gripped  his 
heart  in  a  clutch  of  ice,  and  for  a  space  the  ship 
reeled  about  him.  .  . 

He  found  himself  gazing  blankly  into  the  woman's 
solicitous  eyes.  "What  is  it?  What  is  it?"  he 
heard  her  voice  repeating  breathlessly.  He  knew 
that  his  own  lips  moved  for  some  seconds  without 
sound  as  he  strove  to  answer  her.  The  words,  when 
they  came,  should  have  been  quite  unintelligible 
to  her;  he  realised  this  almost  as  soon  as  he  had 
uttered  them :  "  The  Pool  of  Flame !  " 

Then  he  stumbled  forward,  crying  aloud  for  the 
serang.  Half-way  to  the  ladder  he  halted;  that 
individual's  head  and  shoulders  were  lifting  above  the 
level  of  the  deck.  O'Rourke  covered  him  and  called 
him  aft  as  he  again  retreated  to  the  scene  of  the 
tragedy. 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-SIX  257 

Had  he  been  in  a  condition  to  think  coherently, 
he  might  have  acted  more  prudently.  But  maddened, 
he  was  able  to  grasp  but  one  fact:  that  the  Pool 
of  Flame  was  gone  and  must  be  recovered  at  what- 
ever hazard. 

The  lascar  came  with  what  might  have  seemed 
suspicious  alacrity,  considering  the  fact  that  he  was 
coerced,  that  O'Rourke  held  him  at  the  pistol's  point. 
Gaunt  and  sombre  in  the  moonlight,  moving  noise- 
lessly in  his  bare  feet,  head  up  and  arms  swinging 
limp,  he  advanced  without  a  pause  until  about  six 
feet  from  the  Irishman ;  at  which  distance  O'Rourke, 
collecting  his  wits,  found  voice  enough  to  bid  the 
fellow,  "  Stop  !  " 

The  serang  halted,  impassive,  unmoved. 

"  The  sahib  has  called,"  he  said  in  an  even  voice. 
"  I  am  come.  What  is  the  sahib's  will  with  me  ?  " 

His  words,  together  with  his  half-indolent,  half- 
defiant,  wholly  contemptuous  bearing,  supplied  the 
one  thing  needful  to  restore  to  the  adventurer  his  self- 
control.  O'Rourke  drew  himself  up,  master  of  self 
once  more,  and  looked  the  lascar  in  the  eye. 

"  You  stand,"  he  said  slowly,  choosing  his  words, 
"  on  the  edge  of  the  grave.  Do  you  comprehend 
that,  dog?  " 

"  Aye,  sahib !  " 

"  I  have  called  ye,  then,  to  demand  back  that 
which  is  mine,  the  leather  bag  which  ye  stole  when 
ye  slew  your  brother,  pretending  falsely  it  was  he 


258  THE   POOL   OF  FLAME 

who  had  slain  the  captain.  I  counsel  ye,  speak 
truth  and  render  back  to  me  that  which  ye  have 
stolen." 

The  serang  stiffened,  his  eyes  glistening  in  the 
moonlight.  "  Sahib ! "  he  cried  as  if  in  supplica- 
tion. 

"  No  words,  dog !  "  cried  O'Rourke  sternly.  "  Do 
as  I  bid  ye,  or  abide  the  result  of  disobedience ! " 

"  The  sahib,*'  said  the  serang  slowly,  "  is  full  of 
eyes  and  wisdom.  He  sees  what  no  man  would  be- 
lieve he  could  see.  I  am  content."  He  bowed 
his  head  with  curious  submissiveness,  stretching  forth 
his  palms  as  if  in  token  of  surrender. 

O'Rourke  caught  at  his  breath.  He  had  scarcely 
hoped  for  this ;  he  had  merely  called  the  serang  aft 
as  the  leader  of  the  lascars,  hoping  to  frighten  him 
into  revealing  whichever  of  his  comrades  had  stolen 
the  great  ruby if  he  knew. 

"Ye  have,  then,  the  leather  bag?  "  he  demanded, 
exultation  in  his  voice. 

"  Aye,  sahib ;  or,  if  not  that,  I  have  that  which 
was  therein." 

"The  stone?" 

"  Aye,  sahib." 

"  Then  give  it  me." 

"  I  am  the  sahib's  slave."  The  serang  flashed  a 
strange  smile  at  the  revolver  in  O'Rourke's  hand. 
His  attitude  puzzled  O'Rourke;  he  would  hardly 
have  believed  this  of  the  man ;  rather  he  could  have 
conceived  of  him  as  denying  the  theft  to  the  last 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-SIX  259 

and  fighting  like  an  unchained  fiend  to  retain  his 
booty.  His  present  pose  was  out  of  character,  or 
the  Irishman  misjudged  him. 

Out  of  character  or  no,  it  was  comfortable.  The 
serang,  with  head  bent,  was  fumbling  in  the  folds 
of  his  sash ;  O'Rourke  thought  him  over  long  about 
it,  yet  was  inclined  to  give  him  time  in  view  of  his 
abject  surrender. 

At  length,  still  smiling  oddly,  the  man  lifted  his 
eyes  and  stretched  forth  a  hand  tight  closed. 
"  The  sahib,"  he  said  gently,  "  shall  see  that  his 
servant  spoke  truth.  Let  this  weigh  with  the  sahib 
for  mercy.  Behold ! " 

The  brown  fingers  unclosed  and  in  the  hollow  of 
his  palm  trembled  that  which  seemed  a  ball  of  crys- 
tallised rose  fire,  the  stone  that  man  has  named  the 
Pool  of  Flame.  O'Rourke  uttered  a  low  cry  of  sat- 
isfaction, stepping  forward  to  snatch  up  the  jewel. 
Simultaneously  he  was  aware  of  a  quick  gasp  from 
the  direction  of  the  woman,  followed,  ere  he  could 
account  for  them,  by  two  pistol  shots. 

The  adventurer  groaned,  pitching  forward 
blindly,  one  side  of  his  head,  from  the  ear  to  the 
temple,  a-quiver  with  an  agony  as  if  a  white-hot  iron 
had  seared  him  there.  He  stretched  forth  an  arm 
aimlessly  and  gripped  an  iron  stanchion,  stopping 
his  fall,  and  hung  there  for  what  seemed  an  eon, 
sea  and  skies  swimming  blood-red  before  his  eyes,  in 
his  ears  a  thunderous  rushing  as  of  mighty  waters. 

By    a    supreme    effort    of    will   he    kept    himself 


260  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

half-erect,  clinging  to  the  rail,  and  opened  his 
eyes.  So  briefly  had  pain  blinded  him  that  it  was 
patent  barely  a  second  had  elapsed  since  the  firing 
of  the  shots.  To  his  left  a  stricken  lascar  was  still 
in  the  act  of  falling;  before  him  Mrs.  Prynne  stood 
motionless,  her  face  a  mask  of  horror,  revolver  still 
poised ;  to  the  right  the  .serang,  drawing  a  kris,  was 
smiling  sardonically,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  woman 
who  had  set  at  naught  his  plans. 

O'Rourke  tried  to  call  a  warning  to  her,  for  it 
was  plain  that  she  was  appalled  by  what  she  had 
done,  heedless  of  all  but  the  man  she  had  killed;  but 
it  was  as  if  the  bullet  that  creased  his  temple  had 
temporarily  paralysed  him;  his  tongue  clave  to  the 
roof  of  his  mouth  and  he  could  neither  move  nor 
speak. 

Powerless  (he  believed),  he  watched  the  serang 
gather  himself  together,  like  some  gaunt  cat,  and 
spring;  in  two  strides  he  would  have  been  upon  the 
woman  and  the  night  had  been  crowned  with  its 
most  pitiful  crime.  Yet  in  midair,  O'Rourke  saw  the 
man  falter  and  throw  back,  dropping  the  kris  and 
clutching  frantically  at  nothing. 

Stupidly  the  adventurer  saw  the  smoke  trickling 
from  the  muzzle  of  his  own  revolver  and  knew  that, 
somehow,  he  had  managed  to  pull  the  trigger. 
His  heart  leapt  in  his  breast,  so  keen  was  his  grati- 
tude. Trembling  in  every  limb,  he  essayed  a  second 
time  to  fire  and  put  a  final  period  to  the  serang's 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-SIX  261 

career.  But  his  shot  went  wide  and  the  cylinder 
jammed  so  that  the  hammer  would  not  rise  a  sec- 
ond time.  With  an  oath  he  let  go  the  rail  and  at- 
tempted to  bridge  the  distance  between  himself  and 
the  lascar,  who  was  now  at  a  considerable  distance 
reeling  away  toward  the  rail. 

But  his  overtaxed  strength,  sapped  by  loss  of 
blood,  failed  him ;  and  malice  infused  new  vigour  into 
the  serang,  new  power  to  accomplish  his  final  fiendish 
act. 

Grinning  with  anguish,  the  man  leapt  away  from 
O'Rourke,  staggered  and,  jerking  back  his  arm, 
flung  the  Pool  of  Flame  from  him  with  all  his  might. 

O'Rourke  paused,  petrified  with  despair.  The 
great  stone,  glinting  in  the  moonlight  like  the  very 
heart  of  fire,  described  a  long  and  flaming  arc  and 
.  .  .  the  sea  leapt  up  with  a  hiss  to  welcome  it 
and  it  was  gone. 

A  bitter  cry  broke  from  the  Irishman's  lips ;  he 
made  for  the  man,  whom  he  would  gladly  have  killed 
with  his  bare  hands.  But  again  he  failed.  The 
lascar,  perhaps  guessing  his  intention,  was  at  the 
last  too  quick  for  him. 

By  a  supreme  effort  the  gaunt  serang  seized  the 
rail,  lifted  himself  upon  it,  and  dropped  over  the 
side,  following  that  to  win  which  he  had  given  his 
fife. 


CHAPTER 
TWENTY-SEVEN 

MRS.  PRYNNE,  roused  out  of  her  semi-stupor  by 
O'Rourke's  cry,  with  some  return  of  her  habitual 
clearness  of  thought,  stepped  to  the  companionway 
and  called  for  her  maid. 

O'Rourke  passed  a  hand  over  his  eyes,  and  brought 
it  away  black  with  blood,  but  was  no  more  than 
half  aware  of  this.  Dazed  and  heart-broken,  he 
stared  blankly  round  the  shambles  that  was  the  deck, 
then,  recovering  slightly,  saw  Cecile  join  her  mistress, 
and  realised  that,  whatever  his  personal  grief,  pain 
and  despair,  he  must  play  the  part  of  the  O'Rourke. 
So  he  turned  and  staggered  down  into  the  saloon. 

Danny  was  in  his  berth,  sleeping  the  childlike 
and  loglike  sleep  that  was  ever  his :  Dravos,  below, 
his  ears  deafened  by  the  mighty  chant  of  his  en- 
gines, had  been ,  no  more  conscious  of  the  drama 
on  deck  than  had  Danny.  O'Rourke  caught  the 
boy  with  hands  that  gripped  his  shoulders  cruelly, 
and  shook  him  awake,  then  methodically  booted  him 
up  the  steps  to  the  deck. 

Once  there,  Danny  came  to  his  proper  senses  and 
fell  with  a  will  to  the  tasks  O'Rourke  set  for  him. 

269 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-SEVEN         263 

With  Cecile  he  lifted  the  unconscious  captain  and 
bore  him  down  to  his  berth,  then  left  him  to  the 
ministrations  of  mistress  and  maid  and  returned  to 
throw  overboard  the  last  corpse,  that  of  the  lascar 
whom  the  serang  had  set  to  slay  the  adventurer  from 
behind. 

O'Rourke  himself  proceeded  to  the  bridge,  where 
he  found  the  helmsman  still  at  the  wheel,  soberly 
keeping  the  vessel  on  her  course.  The  circumstance 
at  the  time  surprised  him ;  but  it  afterwards  was 
developed  by  dint  of  cross-examination  of  the  re- 
mainder of  the  crew  that  the  serang  had  specially 
exempted  Quick  and  Dravos  from  the  general  mas- 
sacre, they  being  held  necessary  to  the  navigation 
of  the  ship.  He  had  likewise  put  strict  injunctions 
on  the  helmsman  not  to  desert  the  wheel,  whatever 
the  tide  of  battle,  whether  for  or  against  his  breth- 
ren. The  stabbing  of  Quick  seemed  to  have  been  ac- 
cidental, or  necessary  under  circumstances  unfore- 
seen. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  remainder  of  the  lascars 
were  thoroughly  cowed  and  proved  unbelievably 
docile  for  the  balance  of  the  trip — only  too  eager 
to  curry  favour  by  prompt  execution  of  orders  and 
full  confession  of  details  of  the  serang's  scheme  of 
mutiny. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  voyage  of  the  Ranee  from 
Aden  to  Bombay  was  pushed  through  without  fur- 
ther fatality.  To  the  Irishman,  however,  must  go 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

more  than  half  the  credit:  for  forty-eight  hours  he 
never  left  the  bridge  nor  once  closed  his  eyes  in 
slumber.  Wounded  and  suffering  intensely,  he 
dared  not  for  a  single  instant  leave  the  lascars  in 
possession  of  the  deck,  however  meek  and  humble 
their  attitude.  They  were  herded  in  the  forecastle, 
nor  permitted  to  venture  a  foot  aft  save  on  duty, 
and  then  only  under  the  guard  of  Mrs.  Prynne 
and  Cecile.  Dravos  and  Danny  hardly  ever  left  the 
engine-room ;  the  one  slept  there  in  the  infernal  and 
incessant  clangour,  while  the  other  watched  under 
arms,  turn  and  turn  about.  It  remained  for 
O'Rourke  to  afford  new  proof  of  his  marvellous 
powers  of  endurance. 

He  gave  it  willingly ;  but  the  effort,  the  sustained 
wakefulness  at  a  time  when  he  was  tortured  by  the 
knowledge  of  his  immense  loss,  drained  him  of  his 
reserve  strength  to  a  degree  more  great  than  he 
himself  understood,  and  which  the  others,  perhaps, 
scarcely  credited,  seeing  him  as  they  did  hour  after 
hour  erect,  smiling,  assured  and  competent. 

It  was  not  indeed  until  the  Ranee,  on  the  stroke 
of  the  hour,  the  evening  of  the  fifteenth  day  of  June, 
walked  smartly  into  Bombay  harbour,  the  interna- 
tional code  signal  "  NJ  "  fluttering  from  her  peak, 
rounded  Colabra  and  dropped  anchor  off  the  point; 
not  until  Danny  and  Dravos,  free  at  length  from 
their  toil  in  the  broiling  engine-room,  came  on  deck 
to  relieve  him,  that  O'Rourke  collapsed — stumbled 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-SEVEN          265 

down  the  bridge  ladder  and  lurched  drunkenly  down 
the  saloon  companion  way.  His  head  humming  with 
sleep,  his  brain  bemused  with  fatigue  and  pain,  his 
•eyes  heavy,  he  brushed  by  Mrs.  Prynne  without  see- 
ing her  or  even  hearing  her  low  cry  of  pity  and  solici- 
tude; and  so  entering  the  first  stateroom  that  he 
came  to,  threw  himself,  already  asleep,  into  'the 
berth. 

As  he  did  so  a  loaded  revolver  dropped  from  his 
numb  fingers.     .     .     . 


CHAPTER 
TWENTY-EIGHT 

IT  was  night  when  O'Rourke  awoke;  he  found 
himself  staring  wide-eyed  at  the  ceiling  of  the  state- 
room, upon  which  rippled  wavering  lines  of  light 
reflected  through  the  porthole  by  the  waters  with- 
out. His  mind  for  the  time  was  a  blank;  he  was 
merely  conscious  that  he  was  rested  and  very  thirsty, 
and  that  the  ship  was  motionless. 

Then  in  a  blinding  flash  memory  returned  to  him. 
He  rose,  curiously  light-headed  and  strangely  weak, 
pushed  open  the  door  and  stepped  into  the  saloon. 

It  was  lighted,  if  poorly,  by  a  smoky  kerosene 
lamp  dependent  from  a  beam  above  the  centre-table, 
and  wore  a  hollow,  dingy  air  of  desolation  for  all 
that  Danny  slept  there,  his  vivid  head  pillowed  on 
arms  crossed  before  him  on  the  table.  The  ship 
was  utterly  silent,  and  the  O'Rourke's  sensitive  in- 
stinct told  him  that  it  was  tenanted  only  by  himself 
and  the  servant. 

He  clapped  a  hand  on  Danny's  shoulder  and  shook 
him  into  wakefulness.  The  boy  leapt  to  his  feet 
with  a  cry  and,  seizing  O'Rourke's  hand,  began  to 
sob  upon  it — a  touching  but  disconcerting  per- 

266 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-EIGHT          267 

formance,  to  the  last  degree  exasperating  to  a  man 
thirsting  and  famished. 

O'Rourke,  as  gently  as  he  could,  disengaged  his 
hand  and  thrust  Danny  away,  at  the  same  time  in- 
dicating in  no  uncertain  tones  that  he  preferred 
meat  and  drink  to  emotional  crises.  Provided  with 
a  duty,  Danny's  sentimental  nature  was  diverted; 
he  bustled  away  and  returned  with  an  excellent  cold 
meal — sandwiches,  a  salad,  cheese,  and  other  edibles 
upon  a  tray  graced  likewise  by  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne. And  you  are  to  believe  that  the  master  fell 
to  and  wolfed  it  all,  to  the  last  crumb  and  the  last 
drop. 

A  new  man,  refreshed,  he  demanded  a  pipe,  and, 
with  his  head  cocked  on  one  side  and  something  of 
his  old  humour  twinkling  in  his  eye,  what  time  it 
was  not  clouded  with  bewilderment  and  concern  at 
the  answers  he  received,  cross-examined  his  valet. 

"  How  long,"  was  his  first  question,  "  will  I  have 
slept  now,  Danny  ye  divvle  ?  " 

"  Wan  complete  round  av  the  clock,  yer  honour." 

"  Where  are  we  ?  " 

"  At  anchor,  sor,  off  the  Fort  in  Bombay  har- 
bour." 

"  Umm-hm.  I'm  by  way  of  remembering  some- 
thing of  that.  What  of  the  captain?  " 

"  Raymoved,  yer  honour,  to  a  horsepittle  ashore, 
sor,  to  con-valesce.  At  laste,  I'm  thinking  thot's 
the  word  the  doctor  used,  sor." 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

"  He's  on  the  mend,  then?  " 

"  Aw,  yiss,  yer  honour ;  sure  and  he  is  just  that. 
Faith,  and  wasn't  it  the  doctor  himself  was  sayin' 
'twould  do  him  no  manner  of  harm  to  lose  as  much 
blood  wance  a  year?  " 

"Good.    AndDravos?" 

"  Gone  ashore,  sor,  this  afternoon,  for  a  con- 
ference wid  the  authorities,  rayspictin'  the  mutiny, 
sor.  And  not  come  back  yit." 

O'Rourke  pulled  at  his  cigar,  regarded  regretfully 
the  empty  glass  before  him,  and  with  some  visible 
reluctance  put  the  question  that,  more  than  aught 
else,  he  had  wished  to  put  ever  since  he  had  eaten. 

"And  Mrs.  Prynne?  " 

"  Aw,  yer  honour !  " 

"  What's  the  matter,  Danny?  " 

"  Sure,  sor,  and  axin'  yer  pardon  for  spakin'  so, 
and  manin'  no  manner  of  disrayspict  whatso- 
ever  " 

"  What  the  divvle,  Danny !  " 

Danny  drew  himself  up  with  an  air,  bristling  in- 
dignation. "  Sure,  and  'tis  meself  never  seen  the 
loike  av  thim  wimmin  for  rank  ingratichude,  sor. 
And  afther  all  thot  meself  had  said  to  thot  black- 
eyed  Frinch  vixen " 

"  Danny ! " 

"  Nor,  sor,  not  wan  worrd  av  ut  will  I  widdror, 
not  if  yer  honour  discharges  me  wid  me  usual 
month's  notice,  sor,  this  minute.  Faix,  didn't  / 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-EIGHT          269 

see  ?  No  more  and  the  anchor  was  down,  sor,  and  yer- 
silf  did  to  the  worrld  in  yer  berth,  sor,  thin  thim 
two  does  be  after  hailin'  a  boat  and  intendin'  to  go 
ashore,  widout  so  much  as  a  fare-ye-well,  and  me 
meanin'  the  most  honourable  intintions  in  the,  world 
toward  the  maid " 

"  Have  your  intentions  ever  been  aught  else  toward 
any  woman  ye  ever  won  a  smile  from,  spalpeen?  " 

"  Aw,  now,  yer  honour " 

"  Get  on  with  your  story.  What  about  Mrs. 
Prynne?"  demanded  O'Rourke,  eyeing  his  servant 
curiously  and  trying  to  fathom  his  but  half-dis- 
guised and  wholly  awkward  air  of  self-esteem. 
Plainly  the  boy  thought  highly  of  himself  because 
of  something  he  had  accomplished,  some  exploit  of 
prowess  or  stroke  of  diplomacy  as  yet  undisclosed. 

"  Yissor.  ...  I  was  tellin'  ye  it  seemed  to 
me  the  height  of  maneness  she  was  displaying 
ma'nin'  this  same  Mrs.  Prynne,  whin  'twas  mesilf 
knew,  none  betther,  how  much  ye've  laid  out  on  her 
account  and  hersilf  not  waitin'  to  settle  up  wid 

ye '' 

"  What  business  was  that  of  yours  ?  " 
"'Twas  none,  sor.  But  yersilf  had  keeled  over 
and  was  did  to  ivrything,  and  what  am  I  for  if  not 
to  look  out  for  ye  at  such  times?  ...  So  I'm 
afther  sthoppin'  thim  two  just  as  they  would  be 
lavin'  their  staterooms,  and  sz'I,  *  Missus  Prynne,' 
jsz'I,  *  me  masther's  compliments  and  he'd  like  a  worrd 


270  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

wid  yees  before  ye're  gone  entirely.'  And  *  What's 
this?  '  sz'she  wid  a  fine  show  of  surprise — the  day- 
<:eytful  huzzy ! — though  I'm  watchin'  her  and  think- 
in'  she  was  frightened  about  somethin',  from  the 
white  turn  av  the  face  av  her.  Sz'she :  *  'Tis  in 
the  divvle's  own  hurry  I  am  the  minute,'  or  worrds 
to  the  same  iffict.  Sz'she :  '  And  phwat  will  he  be 
wan  tin'  av  me?  '  '  A  momint's  conversation  wid  ye,' 
sz'I.  And  sz'she:  *  I've  no  time.  Let  me  pass.* 
*  I'll  be  doing,'  sz'I,  *  nawthin'  like  thot,'  for  be  now 
I'm  thinkin'  there's  somethin'  deeper  behint  her  flus- 
ter and  flurry  thin  a  mere  desire  to  bilk  ye — p'rhaps 
'twas  this  thing  in-too-ishun  I've  heard  ye  mintion. 
And  the  next  minit  I'm  sure  av  ut,  for  she  goes  white 
as  snow  in  the  face  and  the  eyes  of  her  begins  to  burn 
like  cold  grane  fire  and  she  screams  to  Cecile  for 
help  and  is  afther  whipping  out  a  gun  to  blow  me 
out  av  her  way  wid ;  but  'tis  mesilf  thot's  be  way  av 
bein'  too  quick  for  her  and  takin'  the  pistol  away; 
and  be  the  mercy  av  the  Saints  Misther  Dravos  hears 
the  shindy  and  hops  down  just  in  time  to  snatch  an- 
other gun  out  of  the  hand  av  that  same  Cecile,  and 
he  grabs  the  gurl  and  truns  her  into  a  stateroom  and 

shuts  the  dure  on  her  and " 

"  And,"  interrupted  O'Rourke  in  a  black  rage, 
rising  and  turning  back  his  sleeves — "  And  now  I'm 
going  to  give  ye  the  father  and  mother  of  all  trash- 
ings,  ye  insolent  puppy!  How  dare  ye  lay  hands 
on  a  lady " 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-EIGHT          271 

"  Ow,  murther !  "  chattered  the  boy,  leaping  away. 
"  Be  aisy,  yer  honour,  and  hear  me  out,  for  'tis 
thin  ye'll  not  be  blamin'  me,  but  if  ye  do  I'll  take 
the  batin'  widout  a  worrd,  sor." 

"  Very  well,"  assented  O'Rourke  ominously.  "  But 
be  quick  about  it,  for  I'm  mistrustful  of  ye  alto- 
gether. Get  on,  ye  whelp  !  " 

Danny  placed  the  table  between  them  with  con- 
siderable expedition.  "  Aw,  listhen  now,"  he 
pleaded.  "  While  Misther  Dravos  was  'tendin'  to 
Cecile,  this  Missis  Prynne  was  scrappin'  like  a  wild- 
cat, scratching  and  bitin',  and  'tis  all  I  can  do  to 
kape  her  from  doing  me  a  hurrt ;  but  finally  I'm 
afther  wrappin'  me  arrms  tight  about  her  and 
holdin'  her  so,  and  I'm  makin'  a  grab  at  her  waist 
whin  be  accident  like  what  do  I  catch  hold  av  but 
something  undernathe  as  big  as  a  hin's  egg — a  stone 
she's  carryin'  round  her  neck,  the  same  as  yer  hon- 
our did  wid  the  Pool  av  Flame ;  and  be  the  feel  av 
ut  ut's  the  same  entirely;  and  thin  I'm  sure  'tis 
the  same  and  thot  some  sculduggery's  be  way  av 
havin'  been  put  upon  ye." 

"What  the  divvle!" 

"  Wan  momint  more.  .  .  .  Now  in  fightin' 
wid  me  the  collar  av  her  waist  has  come  unfastened 
and  meself  can  see  the  string  av  ribbon  that's  hold- 
ing the  thing  there.  So  I  sez  to  mesilf,  sz'I,  *  Tis 
strange  enough  to  bear  investigatin','  sz'I,  '  an'  I'll 
be  takin'  a  chanst  at  this  if  the  masther  do  be  afther 


272  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

flayin'  me  alive.'  So  I  calls  Misther  Dravos  and  gets 
him  to  hould  her  fast  while  I  takes  out  me  knife 
and  cuts  thot  ribbon  and  pulls  the  thing  out  widout 
any  immodesty  whatever;  and  there  on  thot  ribbon 
is  a  chamois-case,  all  sewed  up,  and  I'm  rippin'  it 
open  an'  finding — this!  *' 

"  God  in  Heaven !  "  cried  O'Rourke,  stupefied  and 
agape;  for  Danny,  having  worked  up  to  his  climax, 
had  dramatically  whipped  from  his  pocket  and  cast 
upon  the  table  between  them  the  Pool  of  Flame. 

Thunderstruck,  the  adventurer  stared  at  the  glor- 
ious stone  until  it  swam  beneath  his  gaze,  pulsing 
with  its  secret  fires,  so  unreal  in  his  sight  and  under- 
standing that  he  could  not  believe  himself  sane. 
Then  heavily  he  let  himself  down  into  a  chair  and 
put  forth  an  unsteady  hand  to  take  up  the  ruby. 
Only  its  weight,  its  cold  polish,  the  sharpness  of  its 
great  facets,  rid  him  of  incredulity,  made  him  be- 
lieve that  he  really  held  the  stone  in  his  hand,  how- 
ever impossible  it  were  that  it  should  be  so. 

He  looked  up,  blind  to  the  glee  and  triumph  in 
Danny's  face. 

"  How  did  ye  come  be  this  ?  "  he  demanded,  speak- 
ing slowly  and  steadily,  as  one  who,  having  drunk 
more  than  enough,  listens  to  his  own  enunciation  to 
detect  in  it  the  slur  that  liquor  brings.  "  I  mean — 
I  mean — how  could  ye  have  taken  this  from  the 
woman  when  it  lay  all  the  time  at  the  bottom  of  the 
sea — -six  hundred  miles  and  more  behind  us  ?  " 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-EIGHT          273 

"  Ask  Misther  Dravos  if  ye  do  not  belave  me,  sor. 
How  would  I  be  havin'  it  at  all,  widout  I  got  it 
like  I've  told  ye?  ...  'Tis  the  real  Pool  of 
Flame  ye're  handlin';  that's  sure.  T'other  one — 
the  stone  the  serang  flung  into  the  say,  sor,  was  a 
counterfeit." 

"  How  do  ye  know  that  ?  " 

"  Aisily  enough,  yer  honour :  be  puttin'  the  maid 
Cecile  on  the  witness  stand.  'Twas  this  way:  I 
tuk  the  stone  from  Missus  Prynne  and  Misther 
Dravos  and  mesilf  locked  her  in  her  cabin.  Thin 
afther  talkin'  things  over  we  let  Cecile  out  and  be 
dint  av  threats  and  persuashions,  got  her  to  tell 
what  she  knew." 

"  Go  on." 

"  She  sez  thot  Frinchman  ye  kilt  back  there  in 
Algiers,  sor,  is  at  the  bottom  av  it  all,  only  he's 
not  did  because  ye  didn't  make  a  clane  job  av  ut, 
but  lift  him  wid  the  laste  susphicion  av  the  breath 
av  life  in  the  body  av  him." 

'« I  was  afraid  of  that,"  nodded  O'Rourke.  "  The 
next  time  we  meet,  Des  Trebes  and  I,  there'll  be  no 
mistake  about  it." 

"  She  sez  thot  befure  he  fought  wid  ye  he'd  taken 
measuremints  av  the  stone  and  made  a  wax  mould  av 
ut,  so  thot  whin  he  failed  to  kill  yersilf  and  had  got 
his  .strength  back,  he  wint  to  Paris  and  had  an  imita- 
shun  av  ut  made  there — somehow  be  fusing  chape 
stones  together  and  all  thot,  I  belave.  'Twas 


ixpinsive  an*  him  tight  up  for  money,  so  he  takes 
Missus  Prynne  into  partnership  and  she  puts  up  the 
cash.  Thin — they've  been  watchin'  yersilf  all  the 
time,  sor — they  sets  Cap'n  Hole  onto  ye  to  get  the 
stone  away,  and  he  does  it  like  ye  know.  Afther  ye 
escaped  from  the  Pelican,  he  goes  ashore  and  mates 
the  lady  at  her  hotel  and  daylivers  the  stone  to  her, 
getting  his  pay  and  the  imitashun  into  the  bargain, 
he  insistin'  on  thot  because  he  knows  ye'll  be  comin' 
back  for  the  Pool  av  Flame,  and  he's  afraid  av  ye — 
afraid  ye'll  kill  him  if  he  can't  turn  over  a  ruby  to 
ye  like  the  wan  he  stole.  So  'twas  the  faked  stone 
we  tuk  from  him  thot  same  night  and  the  same  we 
brought  aboard  the  Ranee  and  the  same  the  serang 
sthole  from  ye." 

"  I  begin  to  see.  But  how  about  the  serang? 
What  did  Cecile  have  to  say  in  explanation  of 
him?" 

"  She  couldn't  account  for  him  at  all,  sor,  save 
thot  mebbe  the  natives  in  Rangoon  had  somehow  got 
wind  av  the  fact  that  the  stone  was  comin'  back  and 
a  gang  av  thim  set  out  to  stale  ut.  She  sez  Missus 
Prynne  niver  cud  account  for  the  way  they  discov- 
ered she  had  ut,  but  they  seemed  to  know  pretty 
certain  sure,  sor,  for  ye'll  recall  they  niver 
bothered  ye  at  all  at  first,  and  'twas  only  be  chanst, 
like,  thot  the  serang  got  the  imitashun  from 

*** 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-EIGHT          275 

"  But  what  about  Des  Trebes  ?  Did  the  maid 
say?  " 

"  No  more  than  he'd  been  lift  in  Paris,  sor." 

"  And  why  ?  Why  didn't  he  himself  take  the  stone 
East  instead  of  the  woman?" 

"  I  niver  asked,  sor,  but  belike  'twas  hersilf  thot, 
havin'  put  the  money  into  ut,  insisted  in  collectin* 
the  reward  because  she  misthrusted  the  blackhearted 
scoundrel  intirely." 

"  And  what  've  ye  done  with  the  two  of  them, 
Mrs.  Prynne  and  the  maid?  Are  they  still  locked 
up  safely?  " 

"  Divvle  a  bit,  yer  honour.  'Twas  impossible  to 
kape  them  so,  Dravos  said,  wid  Missus  Prynne 
threatening  to  yell  bloody  murther  out  av  the  poort 
and  kick  up  such  a  row  thot  the  authorities  wud 
be  down  on  us — if  we  didn't  let  her  go.  Besides, 
we'd  got  what  we  wanted  out  av  her,  and  pwhat 
was  the  use  av  holdin'  her  anny  longer  ?  " 

"  So  ye  let  them  go  ?  " 

«  Yissor." 

"I  could  kill  ye  for  it,"  said  O'Rourke,  "and 
Dravos,  too;  for  there's  a  deal  of  matters  I'd  like 
to  be  inquiring  into  with  the  lady  this  blessed  min- 
ute. But,  Danny  boy,  there's  nothing  in  the  world 
I  can't  forgive  ye  now,  for  what  ye've  done  for  me, 
and  'twill  be  a  strange  thing  if  I  don't  serve  ye 
handsomely  when  I  come  into  me  fortune. 


276  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

Now  donH  be  standin*  there  like  a  ninny,  but  be  off 
with  ye  and  pack  me  things  before  I  lift  me  hand 
to  ye.  'Tis  in  haste  we  are — with  Des  Trebes  alive 
and  Mrs.  Prynne  on  the  loose;  and  there'll  be  no 
such  thing  as  rest  for  either  of  us  until  we  reach 
Rangoon." 


CHAPTER 
TWENTY-NINE 

"  DANNY  .  .  ."  said  O'Rourke  without  looking 
up  from  the  occupation  which  had  engrossed  his  at- 
tention for  the  last  three  hours ;  and  for  the  first 
time  in  that  period  he  spoke  audibly,  making  an  end 
to  the  mumbled  confabulation  he  had  been  holding 
with  himself,  a  Murray's  Guide,  a  Bradshaw,  an 
Indian  railway  guide,  several  steamship  folders  and 
a  large  coloured  map  of  the  Indian  Empire. 

"Danny     .     .     ." 

A  slight  but  none  the  less  sincere  snore  was  all 
his  answer.  In  a  chair  by  the  window  of  O'Rourke's 
room  in  the  Hotel  Apollo  Bunder,  Danny  was  nap- 
ping candidly.  His  master  looked  up,  regarded  the 
boy  without  prejudice  for  a  moment,  then  deftly 
shied  the  Bradshaw  across  the  room,  missing 
Danny's  head  by  a  scant  inch.  The  dull  double  im- 
pact of  the  book  against  the  wall  and  on  the  floor 
brought  Danny  up  standing  in  an  instant,  blinking 
and  gasping  and  swaying  with  sleep,  but  with  his 
head  down,  his  fists  clenched  and  his  general  air 
that  of  a  man  ready  for  trouble. 

"  Now,"  said  he  heavily,  "  I've  got  ye     .     .     ." 

277 


278  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

Murray's  Guide  followed  the  Bradshaw  with  a 
more  accurate  aim  and  the  boy's  dream  abruptly  dis- 
solved into  the  consciousness  of  real  pain.  With  a 
small  yelp  he  abandoned  his  fighting  pose  and  began 
to  hop  on  his  right  foot  with  both  hands  clasped 
about  the  left  shin. 

"  Ow !  "  he  cried.    "  Phwat  th'  divvle  at  all !  " 

O'Rourke  reached  for  the  railway  guide.  "  Shut 
up ! "  said  he  ominously.  And  there  was  peace. 
"  What  did  ye  think  ye  were  after  in  your  dream, 
Danny?  "  he  added  curiously. 

Danny  winked  rapidly  and  scratched  his  head. 
"Faith,  I  was  dr'amin' " 

"  I  know  that  well  enough,  idiot." 

"  I  was  dr'amin'  I  was  back  in  the  ingine-room 
av  thot  hell-ship,  sor,  an'  Misther  Dravos  was 
standin'  up  to  me  as  man  to  man." 

"  What  've  ye  got  against  Dravos,  ye  scut?  " 

"  He  was  afther  tr'atin'  me  like  a  naygur,  sor — 
dhrivin'  me  iv'ry  minute  av  the  day " 

"  As  ye  deserved  to  be  driven." 

"And  insultin'  yer  honour  besides,"  amended 
Danny  naively. 

"What ?" 

"  He  was  afther  sayin'  I'd  so  little  intilligince 
no  wan  but  a  madman  like  yerself  would  be  afther 
kapin'  me  in  yer  employ,  sor." 

"  Oh,"  commented  O'Rourke.  He  put  the  railway 
guide  aside,  signifying  that  he  was  placated  for 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-NINE  279 

the  time  being.  "  There's  a  deal  in  that,"  he  ad- 
mitted fairly.  "  I've  no  doubt  the  little  man 
could  've  skinned  ye  alive  for  your  stupidity.  How- 
ever .  .  .  What  day's  this  day,  Danny? " 

Danny  thought  laboriously.  "  'Twas  this  morn- 
in'  we  lift  th'  Ranee,  sor?  .  .  .  Thin  yestiddy 
was  Wednesday." 

"  And  to-day  Thursday,  be  logical  progress  of 
reasoning,  eh?  " 

"  Aw,  yiss,  sor." 

"And  what's  the  time?" 

Danny  consulted  O'Rourke's  watch  on  the  bureau. 
"A  quarther  av  twilve." 

"  Then  bestir  yourself,  ye  lazy  good-for-nothing, 
and  pack  up  me  things." 

"  Aw ! "  cried  Danny,  expostulant. 

"  Our  train  leaves  at  two.  Ye  have  an  hour  and 
a  half." 

"  Aw,  but  yer  honour,  is  ut  no  rist  at  all  we'll 
iver  be  havin'  ?  " 

O'Rourke  took  up  the  railway  guide  and  weighed 
it  meditatively,  estimating  the  distance  to  Danny's 
head ;  so  that  the  latter  turned  hastily  and  began  to 
gather  up  his  master's  belongings  with  a  haphazard 
hand. 

"  Ye  can  rest  on  the  train,"  continued  O'Rourke 
slightly  mollified.  "  I've  just  ten  days  left  in 
which  to  reach  Rangoon,  where  I've  an  appointment 
to  keep  with  a  lady,  Danny,  to  wit,  Madame 


280  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

O'Rourke.  D'ye  mind  her,  and  do  ye  blame  me, 
Danny?" 

Danny  became  suddenly  extraordinarily  busy. 
"  Why  did  ye  not  say  as  much  to  begin  with,  yer 
honour?"  he  complained.  "As  if  I  wouldn't  work 
me  hands  to  the  stumps  av  thim  .  .  ." 

"  'Tis  now  Thursday  noon,"  continued  O'Rourke 
thoughtfully.  "  The  two  o'clock  train's  scheduled  to 
land  us  in  Calcutta  at  ten  Saturday  night.  At 
eight  Sunday  morning  a  steamer  leaves  Diamond 
Harbour  for  Rangoon,  scheduled  for  a  fair-weather 
passage  of  three  days.  That'll  leave  us  a  little  lee- 
way, barring  accidents.  But  we've  no  time  to  waste." 

"  But  how'll  we  be  catching  thot  steamer  at 
Di'mind  Harbour,  sor?  How  far's  that  from  Cal- 
cutta, now,  an'  will  there  be  thrains  at  that  hour  av 
the  night?" 

"  That's  to  be  dealt  with  as  it  turns  up,  Danny. 
There's  only  forty  miles  between  the  two  places, 
and  if  there's  no  train,  we'll  charter  a  motor-car 
or  a  boat  down  the  Hughli.  .  .  ." 

The  latter  expedient  O'Rourke  finally  adopted, 
although  he  could  have  afforded  a  comfortable  night 
in  a  hotel  at  Calcutta,  had  he  deemed  it  wise.  But 
in  the  fifty-six  hours  of  unmitigated  sweltering  that 
he  and  Danny  endured  in  their  flight  across  India 
he  had  leisure  to  think  matters  over  very  carefully, 
with  the  result  that,  all  things  considered,  he  felt 
justified  in  assuming  the  world  to  be  in  league 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-NINE  281 

against  him  and  in  shaping  his  course  accordingly. 
Therefore  it  were  unwise  to  permit  himself  to  be  seen 
and  recognised  in  Calcutta,  or  even  to  linger  on  the 
soil  of  India  an  instant  longer  than  absolutely 
necessary. 

Within  an  hour,  then,  of  his  arrival  at  Howrah, 
he  had,  by  dint  of  persistence  and  rupees,  succeeded 
in  hiring  a  launch  to  take  him  from  the  terminus 
by  water  to  the  steamer  at  Diamond  Harbour — 
"  a  moonlight  flitting,"  as  he  designated  the  pro- 
ceeding to  Danny,  much  to  the  boy's  bewilderment. 

At  the  moment  the  phrase  fell  from  his  lips  the 
launch  was  pluttering  noisily  down  a  night-en- 
shrouded reach  of  the  Hughli,  some  distance  below 
Calcutta.  A  broad  and  swollen  flood  of  inky  water 
swept  silently  with  them  on  either  hand,  bounded 
by  impenetrable  walls  of  tropical  growth,  jet  black 
and  unrelieved  by  any  touch  of  light  along  the 
river's  banks.  Ahead  there  was  just  simple  dark- 
ness, nothing  more;  only  behind  them  a  brazen  sky 
overhung  the  receding  city. 

Danny  looked  up  to  the  zenith  and  back,  argu- 
mentative, to  his  master's  face. 

"  There's  naught  but  stars,"  he  said  firmly. 

"  'Tis  a  moonlight  flitting,  all  the  same,  ye  ig- 
norant spalpeen.  To  be  sure,  as  ye  have  acutely 
observed,  there's  no  moon;  but  that  in  itself 's 
an  insignificant  detail,  hardly  to  be  held  more  than 
negligible.  .  .  .  What's  that  ye  say? " 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

"  Aw,  nawthin',  yer  honour,"  pleaded  Danny 
plaintively. 

"  Why  not,  did  ye  ask?  " 

"  Aw,  shure,  sor,  I  dunno,  and  I  didnH." 

"  'Tis  a  moonlight  flitting,  I'm  telling  ye,  be  rea- 
son of  that  full-complexioned  and  able-bodied  sun- 
burst ye  insist  on  sporting  instead  of  a  head-piece, 
Danny ;  the  same  being  calculated  to  understudy  any 
moon  that  happens  to  be  out  of  the  cast  any  night." 

"Aw,  yiss,"  Danny  acceded,  hastily  if  vaguely. 

"  "Pis  the  outrageous  and  unlawful  colour  of 
the  stuff  ye  call  yer  hair  I'm  animadverting 
against." 

"  Is  ut,  now?  Aw,  shure,  an*  ut  is  by  way  av 
bein'  a  thrifle  awburn,"  admitted  the  valet  compla- 
cently. "  Mesilf  wud  niver  be  disphutin'  thot,  yer 
honour.  But,"  he  insisted,  "  'tis  as  black  a  night 
as  iver  I  see,  wid  niver  a  sign  av  a  moon.  So 
how " 

Here  O'Rourke  gently  but  with  determination 
changed  the  subject. 


CHAPTER 
THIRTY 

AT  a  small  hour  of  the  morning  they  made  Diamond 
Harbour  in  pitch  darkness — to  which  circumstance 
Danny  ostentatiously  drew  attention — and  without 
misadventure  were  successful  in  causing  themselves 
to  be  transhipped,  bag  and  baggage,  to  the  twin- 
screw  steamship  Poonah,  which  vessel  rode  at  anchor 
in  midstream. 

Toward  eight  o'clock  of  the  white-hot  forenoon 
that  followed,  O'Rourke,  in  the  shadow  of  a  long- 
boat on  the  Poonah's  promenade  deck,  stood  finish- 
ing a  matutinal  cigar  and  watching  narrowly  a 
tender  ferry  out  a  final  boatload  of  passengers  from 
the  eastern  river  bank. 

Below  him  the  unclean  yellow  flood  swirled  and 
brawled,  as  if  eager  to  end  its  journey  and  cleanse 
itself  in  the  mother  sea  that  lay  sixty  miles  farther 
to  the  south.  Beyond  the  river  the  Sanderbands 
reared  high  their  walls  of  vivid  green,  shutting  off 
India  from  the  Bay  of  Bengal.  Overhead  the  skies 
were  pale  with  heat  and  dotted  with  sentinel  carrion 
birds.  .  .  . 

Slowly  the  tender  forged  toward  the   steamer's 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

side ;  and  as  it  drew  near,  O'Rourke  forgot  to  smoke 
and  bent  over  the  rail  to  inspect  with  unremitting 
interest  those  upon  its  decks.  Half-screened  as  he 
was  he  made  no  pretence  of  veiling  the  intensity  of 
the  lively  and  alert  glances  that  he  shifted  rapidly 
from  face  to  face.  From  his  expression  it  might 
have  been  thought  that  he  was  searching  for  an 
expected  acquaintance,  but  never  that  he  appre- 
hended danger,  or  feared  a  deadly  peril  to  himself 
might  be  embodied  in  one  or  another  of  that  hetero- 
genous  rabble. 

The  forward  deck  of  the  tender  held  his  regard 
but  briefly;  those  who  waited  there,  eyeing  impas- 
sively the  towering  flanks  of  the  liner,  were  one  and 
all  of  the  East,  of  races,  creeds  and  types  too  nu- 
merous to  catalogue,  as  many  and  as  varied  as  the 
hues  and  tints  of  their  garments — jacket,  sarong, 
cummerbund  and  surtout,  turban  and  tarboosh — 
that  made  the  decks  glow  like  some  odd,  floating, 
faded  flower-bed.  These  the  adventurer  might  not 
read,  save  individually  upon  personal  contact.  If 
trouble  was  to  come  from  them,  collectively  or  in- 
dividually, he  would  not  know  until  the  blow  had 
fallen.  On. the  other  hand,  he  might  be  able  to  haz- 
ard shrewd  surmises  as  to  the  potential  animus 
inherent  in  any  one  of  the  Europeans  who  were  to 
be  his  fellow  passengers. 

The  latter  were  a  mere  handful :  half  a  dozen  com- 
mercial travellers  from  London,  Paris,  Berlin,  their 


CHAPTER   THIRTY  285 

avocations  evident  beyond  dispute;  a  sallow  English 
missionary  with  his  withered  wife,  sombre  figures  in 
the  stark  sunlight;  a  red-faced  deputy-sub-some- 
thing-or-other  of  the  Indian  Government,  compla- 
cent in  white  drill  and  new  pith  helmet  with  a  gay 
puggaree;  a  lone  English  girl,  and  a  Frenchman. 

The  two  latter  held  the  Irishman's  attention:  the 
girl  because,  even  at  a  distance,  her  slim  white-clad 
figure  and  well-poised  head  seemed  singularly  fresh 
and  attractive;  the  man  because — well,  because 
O'Rourke  was  susceptible  to  premonitions. 

He  was  a  tall  man  and  broad,  the  Frenchman — 
well-made,  well-groomed,  carrying  himself  with  an 
indefinable  air  of  distinction.  His  face  was  rather 
pale  (and  therefore  notable  in  that  concourse  of 
dark  skins),  its  features  strongly  modelled,  the 
mouth  and  chin  masked  by  a  neatly  trimmed  and 
pointed  beard  and  moustache. 

O'Rourke  could  not  have  said  that  he  had  ever 
seen  the  man  before;  yet  there  was  this  and  that 
about  him  which  struck  a  spark  of  reminiscence 
from  his  memory.  A  suspicion  flashed  through  his 
mind  which  he  put  aside  with  disdain,  as  absurd  and 
far-fetched.  On  the  other  hand  .  .  .  He  knit 
his  brows  in  puzzlement. 

The  very  fixity  of  his  regard  drew  the  eyes  of  its 
object  upwards.  They  encountered  O'Rourke's, 
lingered  briefly  in  an  unveiled,  inquiring  stare  in 
which  there  was  not  to  be  detected  the  least  hint  of 


286  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

recognition,  and  passed  onward  casually,  indiffer- 
ently, ignoring  the  impertinence. 

By  this  time  deck-hands  were  making  the  tender 
fast  to  its  overshadowing  sister,  bringing  the  man 
and  the  girl  directly  underneath  O'Rourke — or  al- 
most so.  He  could  overhear  them  conversing  indif- 
ferently on  indifferent  topics.  The  man  was  speak- 
ing French  with  the  glib  Parisian  enunciation,  the 
girl  as  fluently,  but  with  an  inflection  betraying  her 
nationality  unmistakably.  She  was  unquestionably 
English,  from  her  white-canvas  shoes  to  her  straw 
hat  with  its  green  film  of  veiling,  while  her  assured 
demeanour  and  dispassionate  acceptance  of  her  sur- 
roundings led  O'Rourke  instantly  to  class  her  as 
no  stranger  to  the  East.  Most  probably,  he  thought, 
she  would  turn  out  to  be  the  daughter  of  some  Brit- 
ish official.  She  was  certainly  very  pretty. 

She  chattered  on  with  the  well-bred  vivacity  of  her 
caste,  attention  centred  on  her  companion;  he  re- 
plied less  readily,  perhaps,  and  seemed  a  trifle 
diverted  by  contemplation  of  the  Poonah  and  the 
native  rabble.  His  eyes,  black  and  blank  as  but- 
tons, travelled  hither  and  yon  incessantly.  After 
a  bit  he  looked  back  to  O'Rourke,  again  became 
aware  of  his  existence,  and  lifted  his  thick  and 
arched  black  brows  in  semi-surprise  at  the  steady 
scrutiny  to  which  he  found  himself  subjected. 

The  tender's  passengers  began  to  stumble  up  the 
gang-plank  to  a  lower  deck  of  the  liner;  and 


CHAPTER    THIRTY  287 

O'Rourke,  with  a  sober  face,  went  below,  taking 
some  care  to  avoid  contact  with  the  incoming 
crowd. 

He  found  Danny  was  in  his  stateroom,  engaged 
with  some  details  of  repair  to  the  adventurer's  ward- 
robe. But  his  ears  had  been  quick  to  recognise  the 
ring  of  his  master's  heels  in  the  gangway,  and  he 
had  the  bolt  half  drawn  when  O'Rourke  tapped  the 
panels  with  a  peculiar  triple  knock. 

When  he  had  entered,  Danny  without  question 
returned  to  his  employment.  He  was  only  human, 
however,  and  plentifully  endowed  with  the  human 
trait  of  curiosity.  He  was  quick,  then,  to  cock  an 
intelligent  blue  eye  up  at  his  master's  countenance, 
and  not  at  all  slow  to  observe  thereupon  disturbing 
portents :  a  notably  set  expression  about  the  wide- 
lipped  mouth,  an  ominous  flicker  in  the  depths  of 
thoughtful  eyes,  a  V-mark  of  perturbation  deep  be- 
tween the  eyebrows. 

Seeing  all  this,  Danny  whistled  long  and  low — 
indeed,  inaudibly.  "  The  Saints  presarve  us  !  *'  said 
he  to  himself.  "  But  there's  the  divvle  to  pay,  or 
I  dunno  the  O'Rourke  at  all." 

O'Rourke  remained  for  a  brief  space  standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  cabin,  visibly  abstracted.  Then 
abruptly  some  whimsical  consideration  seemed  to  re- 
solve his  dubiety — as  lightning  will  clear  sultry, 
brooding  air;  a  smile  deepened  the  corners  of  his 
mouth,  the  flicker  in  his  eye  merged  magically  into 


288  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

a  twinkle,  the  shrug  of  his  broad  shoulders  conveyed 
an  impression  of  casting  care  to  the  winds. 

Which  was  precisely  what  he  was  not  doing.  He 
was  simply  determined  temporarily  to  make  the  best 
of  what  might  turn  out  to  be  a  very  serious  mat- 
ter. His  philosophy  knew  nothing  so  discouraging 
to  ill  luck  as  a  smiling  welcome. 

"  Danny,  lad,"  he  remarked  reflectively,  throw- 
ing himself  ungracefully  upon  the  cushioned  tran- 
som opposite  to  his  berth.  "  Danny,  ye  wouldn't 
lie  to  me,  would  ye  now?  " 

"  Aw-w ! "  reproved  Danny.  "  Shure,  yer  hon- 
our knows  ut  isn't  in  me  at  all."  And  to  himself: 
"  Phat  the  divvle  now?  " 

"  Then  tell  me,  Danny,  truthfully ;  did  ye  ever 
see  a  ghost?  " 

"  Aw-w !  " — seeing  cause  to  take  the  query  as  a 
joke. 

"  A  ghost  that  had  grown  beard  since  it  had 
become  a  ghost,  Danny  ?  " 

"  Aw-aw-w ! " — still  willing  to  be  amused,  if 
"  himself  "  chose  to  be  facetious. 

"  Because,"  continued  O'Rourke  with  a  slight 
frown,  "  I  have,  and  that  not  five  minutes  since." 

"Aw?" 

"  Wance  I  left  a  man  for  dead,  Danny,  with  a 
clean  sword-thrust  through  the  body  of  him — a  mis- 
begotten blackguard  he  was ;  but  I  killed  him  in 
fair  fight,  sword  to  sword,  and  no  favour.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER    THIRTY  289 

'And  this  bright  and  beautiful  morning,  lo  and  be- 
hold ye!  who  should  come  tripping  up  the  gang- 
plank but  his  ghost,  as  lively  as  ye  please,  and  with 
a  neat  new  beard ! " 

"  Aw-w  ?  " — incredulously. 

O'Rourke  frowned  impatiently.  "  Des  Trebes," 
he  explained. 

«  AW " 

"  Stop  it,  ye  parrot !  Stop  it,  I  say !  Have  ye 
no  word  in  the  dark  lexicon  of  your  ignorance  other 
than  '  Aw-aw  '  ?  Did  I  hire  ye  to  talk  like  a  hen 
when  meself  condescends  to  have  speech  with  ye? 
What  the  divvle  d'ye  mean  be  it?  Easy  there!" — 
as  Danny  opened  a  startled  mouth  with  the  patent 
intention  of  delivering  himself  of  a  protesting  "  aw." 
"  Careful,  ye  scut !  One  more  cluck  and  out  ye  go, 
through  the  port  into  the  broad  and  ugly  Hughli, 
Danny,  to  give  some  hungry  crocodile  the  indiges- 
tion. .  .  .  There!  Get  up,  ye  omadhaun,  and 
take  me  respects  to  the  purser  and  ask  him  please 
will  he  show  ye  the  passenger-list." 

The  valet  left  with  circumspect  alacrity. 

Alone,  O'Rourke  rose  and  turned  thoughtfully  to 
a  revolver  that  made  a  conspicuous  black  spot  on 
the  white  counterpane  of  the  berth,  with  nervous, 
strong  fingers  unlimbering  the  weapon  and  tak- 
ing account  of  the  brass  dials  of  the  cartridges 
that  nestled  snug  in  its  six-chambered  cylinder.  The 
machine  was  in  perfect  condition ;  O'Rourke  snapped 


290  THE    POOL   OF   FLAME 

the  breech  shut  and  thrust  it  in  his  pocket.  Then 
he  sat  down  to  think,  subconsciously  aware  from 
noises  without  that  the  tender  had  swung  off  and  the 
anchor  was  being  tripped. 

Could  the  resemblance  be  accidental?  It  seemed 
hardly  possible.  The  Des  Trebes  he  had  known  had 
been  a  type  distinct,  so  clear  and  aloof  from  the 
general  Frenchman  that  not  even  the  addition  of  a 
beard  to  his  physiognomy  could  have  proven  a 
thorough  disguise.  And  it  seemed  reasonable  enough 
to  assume  that,  Mrs.  Prynne  having  failed  in  her 
undertaking,  Des  Trebes  would  resume  his  office  as 
active  head  of  their  conspiracy.  If  it  were  indeed 
he  whom  O'Rourke  had  just  seen,  there  was  every 
chance  imaginable  that  the  final  chapter  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  Irishman's  connection  with  the  Pool  of 
Flame  would  prove  an  eventful  one. 

"  Maybe  not,"  admitted  O'Rourke,  "  maybe  I  de- 
ceive meself.  But  I'm  persuaded  I'll  do  well  to  keep 
both  me  eyes  open  until  the  day  I'm  rid  of  the 
damned  thing ! " 

At  this  juncture  Danny's  knock  took  him  to  the 
door.  "  Mongsere  Raoul  de  Hyeres,"  announced 
the  valet  breathlessly :  "  'tis  thot  the  purser  says  his 
name  is,  yer  honour." 

"  Yes,"  assented  O'Rourke  dubiously.  "  But  per- 
haps the  purser's  mistaken — misinformed." 


CHAPTER 
THIRTY-ONE 

As  time  went  on,  however,  if  his  uneasiness  were  not 
sensibly  diminished,  nothing  happened,  the  voyage 
proving  entirely  uneventful;  and  O'Rourke  was 
forced  to  the  conclusion  that,  if  Monsieur  de  Hyeres 
were  really  the  Vicomte  des  Trebes,  he  was  strangely 
content  to  play  a  waiting  game. 

The  Irishman,  however,  had  known  stranger 
things  than  that  one  man  should  seem  the  counter- 
part of  another.  And  by  nothing  more  than  this 
questionable  accident  of  resemblance  did  De  Hyeres 
give  him  reason  to  believe  him  anything  but  what 
he  claimed  to  be.  The  man's  demeanour  was  consist- 
ently discreet  and  self-contained;  he  moved  about 
the  ship  openly  and  without  any  apparent  attempt 
to  pry  upon  the  doings  of  the  adventurer,  whom  he 
fell  into  the  easy  ship-board  way  of  greeting  ami- 
ably but  coolly.  Only  in  one  instance,  indeed,  did 
they  exchange  more  than  but  courteous  salutations, 
and  then  De  Hyeres  himself  seemed  to  seek  the  in- 
terview, approaching  O'Rourke  directly. 

This  was  at  night,  when  O'Rourke  occupied  a 
chair  on  the  leeward  side  of  the  saloon  deck,  con- 
suming a  meditative  after-dinner  cigar.  De  Hyeres 

291 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

stepped  out  of  the  companionway,  glanced  swiftly 
this  way  and  that,  and  sauntered  toward  the  Irish- 
man with  an  unlighted  cigarette  held  conspicuously 
between  his  fingers. 

O'Rourke  likewise  surveyed  his  surroundings  in  two 
brief  glances:  and  was  contented  to  find  that  they 
were  alone,  or  as  much  alone  as  two  can  be  upon  a 
steamship.  For  they  were,  after  all,  well  matched; 
and  one  of  them  he  knew  to  be  armed.  Shifting  in  his 
chair  so  that  his  revolver  lay  convenient  to  his  hand, 
as  De  Hyeres  approached  the  Irishman  removed 
his  cigar  from  between  his  teeth,  flicked  away  an 
inch  of  ash  and  silently  proffered  it  in  the  pre- 
scribed fashion. 

The  Frenchman  accepted  the  courtesy  with  a  bow, 
applied  the  fire  to  his  cigarette,  inhaled  deeply  and 
returned  the  cigar  with  a  formal  phrase  of  thanks. 
He  lingered  for  a  moment,  puffing  and  gazing  off 
over  the  black,  starlit  expanse  of  the  Bay  of  Ben- 
gal, lonely  to  its  dim  and  far  horizon,  then  ob- 
served quietly :  "  I  am  not  mistaken,  I  believe,  in 
understanding  I  have  the  honour  to  address  Mon- 
sieur le  Colonel  O'Rourke,  Chevalier  of  the  Legion 
of  Honour?  " 

"  You  are  not  mistaken,  monsieur,*'  returned 
O'Rourke  pleasantly,  then  with  the  directness  which 
he  sometimes  found  useful,  watching  the  man  closely 
as  he  spoke :  "  And  I  believe  it  is  my  pleasure  to 
recognise  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  des  Trebes  ?  " 


CHAPTER   THIRTY-ONE  293 

"  Des  Trebcs,  monsieur?  "  The  Frenchman's  look 
of  wonder  was  beyond  criticism  and  there  was  no 
least  trace  of  discomfiture  to  be  detected  in  his  man- 
ner. "  But  no.  You  are  under  a  mistake.  I  am 
merely  a  French  gentleman  without  a  title ;  Raoul 
de  Hyeres  is  my  name." 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  wanderer.  "  'Twas  the  resem- 
blance misled  me.  Pardon,  monsieur." 

"  Granted,  my  dear  sir.  .  .  .  Des  Trebes  ? 
The  name  has  a  familiar  sound.  Do  I  not  remember 
reading  somewhere  that  the  Vicomte  des  Trebes  died 
last  spring?  In  Tunis,  was  it?  .  .  .  Suddenly, 
I  believe." 

"Is  it  so?"  said  O'Rourke  drily.  "Possibly. 
The  vicomte  lived  in  the  manner  of  those  who  meet 
with  sudden  deaths." 

The  subject  languished,  and  after  a  few  more 
noncommittal  observances  De  Hyeres  wandered  off, 
presumbably  in  search  of  the  English  girl,  to  whom 
he  had  been  paying  assiduous  attention. 

On  closer  scrutiny,  she  had  proved  to  be  a  re- 
remarkably  pretty  girl;  although,  in  point  of  fact, 
O'Rourke,  for  all  that  he  admired  her  looks  im- 
mensely, had  purposely  avoided  her.  This  he  did 
from  motives  of  prudence;  he  mistrusted  the  com- 
bination formed  by  De  Hyeres  and  the  girl.  The 
latter  might  be  all  that  she  looked  and  claimed  to 
be:  a  sweet,  wholesome  and  rather  ingenuous  young 
Englishwoman,  an  orphan,  resident  in  Rangoon  in 


294 

the  household  of  an  uncle,  to  whom  she  was  re- 
turning after  a  visit  with  friends  in  Simla.  On  the 
passenger  list  her  name  stood  as  Emilia  Pynsent. 
But  the  adventurer  felt  it  the  course  of  wisdom  to 
deny  himself  the  pleasure  of  her  acquaintance,  so 
long  as  she  permitted  the  attentions  of  the  French- 
man. 

Altogether,  considering  the  hot  weather  and  such 
self-imposed  restrictions,  O'Rourke  considered  the 
voyage  hardly  a  success  from  a  social  point  of  view. 
He  kept  pretty  much  to  himself  and  to  Danny,  and 
to  make  assurance  doubly  sure  he  instituted  a  new 
regime  with  regard  to  the  Pool  of  Flame:  that  jewel 
never  left  his  stateroom.  When  O'Rourke  was  on 
deck  or  at  meals,  Danny  sat  behind  bolts,  alert  and 
under  arms,  and  vice  versa.  By  night  they  stood 
regular  watches  together,  the  one  on  guard  while 
the  other  slept.  Clearly  the  adventurer  was  deter- 
mined that  no  lack  of  safeguards  on  his  part  should 
again  deprive  him  of  the  ruby. 

But  it's  no  easy  matter  to  avoid  meeting  any 
particular  person  on  a  ship  with  a  small  saloon  list, 
unless  one  is  willing  to  be  purposely  rude  and  dis- 
courteous. For  all  his  wariness  the  Irishman  was  to 
carry  with  him  a  personal  impression  of  Miss  Pyn- 
sent. 

On  the  last  day  of  the  passage,  toward  evening, 
the  Poonah  raised  the  coast  of  Burmah ;  by  dark  she 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-ONE  295 

was  steaming  steadily  southwards  along  the  littoral, 
heading  for  the  delta  of  the  Irrawaddy. 

A  still,  bright  night  with  little  wind:  O'Rourke 
was  not  one  to  resist  its  allure.  Four  bells  saw  him 
lounging  at  the  rail  below  the  bridge,  staring  hun- 
grily over  toward  the  land.  It  was  in  his  mind  that 
another  twelve  hours  or  so  would  see  him  relieved  of 
his  trust ;  and  as  the  time  drew  nigh  impatience 
burned  hotly  within  him;  he  had  become  full  weary 
of  the  Pool  of  Flame  and  was  anxious  to  be  free  of 
the  thing,  to  have  its  chapter  in  his  history  closed 
forever. 

Far  over  the  water  a  white  and  flashing  light 
lifted  up  and  caught  his  eye,  a  nameless  beacon 
bright  against  the  darkness  at  the  base  of  the 
Arakan  hills,  guardian  of  the  perils  of  those  shallow 
seas.  And  simultaneously  he  became  conscious  of  a 
presence  at  his  elbow ;  as  he  turned  sharply  the  Eng- 
lish girl  addressed  him  in  a  voice  sweet-toned  and 
quiet. 

"  What  is  that  light,  if  you  please,  Colonel 
O'Rourke?" 

"Faith,  that  I  can't  say,  Miss  Pynsent." 

Her  eyes  flashed  a  laugh  upon  him  in  the  gloom. 
"  Then  you  know  my  name  ?  " 

"  Even  as  yourself  knew  mine.  'Twould  be 
strange  otherwise,  with  our  ship's  company  so  small." 

"  But  I,"  she  returned,  animated,  "  am  such  an 


296  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

insignificant  person — while  you  are  the  Colonel 
O'Rourke." 

"  Ye  do  me  an  honour  I'm  not  deserving,  Miss 
Pynsent,  but  'tis  proud  I  am  entirely  that  a  humble 
soldier  of  fortune  should  be  known  to  ye  be  reputa- 
tion." 

"  Oh,  I've  grown  quite  weary  of  your  fame, 
Colonel  O'Rourke,"  she  countered  with  a  trace  of 
laughing  impudence.  "  Hardly  anything  has  inter- 
ested Monsieur  de  Hyeres,  these  past  few  days,  save 
anecdotes  of  your  exploits." 

"  'Tis  kind  of  him,  to  be  sure.  I  must  cultivate 
his  acquaintance  and  learn  from  him  to  know  me- 
self,  I  see." 

If  she  detected  the  irony  she  overlooked  or  failed 
to  understand  it.  "  He's  very  entertaining,"  she 
commented  pleasantly.  "  But  then  most  French- 
men are,  don't  you  think?  I  hope  to  see  much  of 
him  in  Rangoon." 

"So  he's  landing  there,  too?"  O'Rourke  filled 
in  the  pause. 

"  I  believe  so.     And  you,  Colonel  O'Rourke  ?  " 

"  I  may  have  to  wait  over  until  the  next  steamer," 
he  admitted  warily. 

"  I  sympathise  heartily  with  your  disgust  at  the 
prospect,"  laughed  the  girl. 

"  Eh?  And  why?  'Tis  a  land  of  fair  repute,  for 
climate  and  beauty." 

"  Ah,  but  I  live  in  Burmah,  you  see,  and  so  have 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-ONE  29T 

come  to  know  it  far  too  well.  But  that's  the  way 
with  all  expatriates,  isn't  it — to  hate  their  homes 
so  far  from  Home?  " 

"Must  ye  endure  it,  then,  Miss  Pynsent?" 

"  An  orphan  has  little  choice.  It  seems  my  kis- 
met to  abide  in  Rangoon  forever  and  a  day.  You 
see,  my  only  living  relative  is  an  uncle,  Mr.  Lans- 
downe  Sypher,  and  he's  got  no  one  else  to  keep 
house  for  him." 

"  Lansdowne  Sypher     ...      ! " 

The  ejaculation  sprang  to  O'Rourke's  lips  before 
he  could  restrain  it. 

"  Yes.  Do  you  know  him?  He's  the  junior,  you 
know,  of  the  firm  of  Secretan  and  Sypher." 

"  Solicitors,  are  they  not  ?  .  .  .  No ;  'tis  me 
misfortune  not  to  know  your  uncle.  But  the  name 
of  his  firm  I've  heard." 

The  genial  nature  of  the  Irishman,  which  had  in- 
sensibly warmed  to  the  girl's  charm,  withdrew 
abruptly,  tortoise-like,  into  a  shell  of  reserve.  The 
element  of  coincidence  had  again  entered  into  his 
affairs,  and  he  had  learned  a  bitter  lesson  from  ex- 
perience— to  distrust  coincidence  on  general  prin- 
ciples. "  There's  naught  so  common  in  life  as  co- 
incidence," he  philosophised,  "  and  be  the  same  token 
naught  so  dangerous." 

For  which  reason  he  invented  an  early  excuse  to 
terminate  the  conversation,  and  ungallantly  with- 
drew to  the  seclusion  of  his  stateroom,  where  he 


298  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

passed  a  night  that  seemed  interminable;  for  he 
lay  long  in  a  wakeful  panic  of  the  imagination, 
scheming  out  a  hundred  stratagems  whereby  he 
might  confuse  as  many  possible  attempts  to  pre- 
vent the  due  and  safe  delivery  of  the  Pool  of  Flame 
into  the  hands  of  Mr.  Lansdowne  Sypher. 


CHAPTER 
THIRTY-TWO 

TOWARD  the  close  of  the  following  day  the  Poondh 
dropped  anchor  in  the  river  roadstead  off  Rangoon ; 
and  within  the  ensuing  hour  her  passengers  had  de- 
serted her,  De  Hyeres  and  Miss  Pynsent  in  their 
van,  O'Rourke  among  the  last  to  leave.  And  noth- 
ing hindered  him,  not  the  least  hitch  delayed  his 
disembarkation.  It  was  curious,  it  was  incredible, 
it  was  disturbing.  He  took  away  with  him  no  ease 
of  mind  whatever. 

"  The  course  of  good  luck  never  did  run  smooth," 
he  assured  himself  gloomily.  "  At  least,  that's  me 
own  experience.  The  sun  never  shines  so  bright  as 
the  minute  before  I  stumble  over  the  unexpected  and 
fall  flat  on  me  foolish  face.  Now  if  only  it  were 
stormy — if  only  De  Hyeres,  or  Des  Trebes  or  some- 
body had  slipped  a  dynamite  bomb  into  me  pocket, 
I'd  feel  more  hopeful.  But,  Heavens !  " — he  rapped 
sharply  the  gunwale  of  the  sampan  in  which  he  was 
journeying  shorewards — "  knock  wood  before  the 
sky  falls,  me  boy.  'Twould  be  only  natural  were  this 
cockleshell  to  turn  turtle  in  midstream — and  then 
meself  would  sink  like  a  shot,  with  this  infernal 
Jonah  hanging  round  me  neck !  " 

399 


300  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

There  seemed  more  than  a  possibility  of  that ;  the 
particular  sampan  which  had  fallen  to  his  lot  was 
apparently  no  more  substantial,  no  less  cranky  than 
its  kin.  It  seemed  to  dance  across  the  rushing  tide 
of  Rangoon  river  as  lightly  and  with  quite  as  much 
stability  as  a  feather,  every  wavelet  a  peril, 
the  swell  from  a  passing  bumboat  a  dangerous  men- 
ace. .  .  .  O'Rourke  at  length  rose,  balanced 
himself  gingerly,  with  a  convulsive  leap  found 
himself  upon  the  landing  stage  below  the  floating 
jetty,  and  took  away  with  him  a  high  opinion  of 
the  skill  of  Burmese  watermen. 

There  were  tikkagharries  waiting,  and  without  a 
breath's  delay  the  adventurer  and  his  servant 
climbed  into  the  nearest  and  desired  to  be  conveyed 
to  the  offices  of  Messrs.  Secretan  and  Sypher.  The 
vehicle  whirled  them  swiftly  away  and  into  the  main- 
travelled  way  of  Rangoon,  Mogul  Street ;  whose 
romantic  designation  rouses  anticipations  inevitably 
disappointed,  since  it  is  anything  but  Burmese  in 
character,  offering  to  eyes  acquainted  with  the  street 
scenes  of  Indian  cities  nothing  new.  O'Rourke  de- 
clared it  might  have  been  a  bit  of  Bombay  or  of 
Madras  transplanted;  of  Burmah,  the  individual 
land,  there  was  little  visible — little  more  than  the  na- 
tives who  formed  anything  but  a  large  part  of  the 
wayfaring  throng.  He  found  in  Mogul  Street,  the 
commercial  centre  of  Rangoon,  architects  as  well 
as  architecture  alien  to  the  land.  .  .  .  But 


CHAPTER    THIRTY-TWO  301 

there  were  compensating  things :  glimpses  caught 
in  passage  of  narrow  side  streets,  teeming  with  life; 
the  warm,  scented  atmosphere  of  the  city ;  the  glow- 
ing colour  and  the  repose  inseparable  from  any 
conception  of  an  Eastern  city;  above  all  the  slim, 
graceful  spire  of  the  Shway  Dagon,  a  finger  of  gold 
pointing  the  way  to  Heaven. 

In  front  of  a  structure  of  stone  and  iron  so  pal- 
pably an  office-building  that  it  might  bodily  have 
been  transplanted  to  the  Strand  without  exciting 
comment — save  for  the  spotless  cleanliness  of  it — 
their  tikkagharry  drew  up.  The  gharriwallah  in- 
dicated the  offices  of  Messrs.  Secretan  and  Sypher, 
one  flight  up — and  named  his  fare.  O'Rourke  paid 
him  and  alighted,  with  Danny  at  his  heels  and  his 
heart  trying  to  choke  him.  The  hour  of  fulfilment 
was  at  hand — and  all  was  well!  He  who  had 
faced  death  in  a  hundred  shapes  of  terror,  unflinch- 
ing, found  himself  in  a  flutter  of  nerves  that 
would  have  disgraced  a  schoolgirl.  He  would  not 
have  considered  it  surprising  had  he  been  shot  down 
then  and  there,  in  broad  daylight,  by  some  skulk- 
ing assassin.  He  apprehended  he  knew  not  what: 
danger,  death,  despoilment  of  his  treasure — from 
every  quarter.  Every  footfall  was  ominous  in  his 
ears,  every  spoken  word  a  shriek  of  warning. 

He  dodged  into  the  building,  took  the  steps  three 
at  a  stride  .  .  .  and  suddenly  found  himself 
in  the  presence  of,  more  than  that,  closeted  with,  the 


302  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

man  to  meet  whom  he  had  crossed  half  the  world  at 
peril  of  his  life :  Mr.  Lansdowne  Sypher.  He  eyed 
him  in  astonishment  unbounded,  questioning  his 
reality.  Conscious  of  what  he  had  dared  and  tri- 
umphed over  within  the  last  three  months,  to  find 
himself  in  that  spot  dazed  him. 

And  yet  the  solicitor  was  tangible  enough;  the 
touch  of  his  hand  was  still  warm  in  O'Rourke's  palm ; 
while  their  seclusion  was  undeniable  and  Danny  re- 
mained in  the  outer  office,  a  stout-hearted,  loyal, 
armed  and  efficient  guard  against  interruption. 

"  Colonel  O'Rourke  ? "  Sypher's  manner  was 
very  cordial.  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  You  are  within 
your  time,  yet  I  had  begun  to  despair  of  you.  Be 
seated."  He  indicated  a  chair  beside  his  desk.  "  And 
permit  me;  you  of  all  men  will  appreciate  the  pre- 
caution." 

He  laughed  and  went  to  the  windows,  adjusting 
the  wooden  shades  in  such  a  manner  that  the  light 
was  tempered  and  no  portion  of  the  room  could  be 
visible  to  any  one  spying  from  a  window  in  one  of 
the  adjacent  buildings.  Then  he  turned  and  smiled 
cheerfully  at  the  stupefied  adventurer.  O'Rourke 
comprehended  him  slowly:  a  little  man  of  brisk 
habits,  full-coloured,  his  hair  touched  with  grey, 
wearing  the  indescribable  manner  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  exile;  unquestionably  an  Englishman,  a  gen- 
tleman, a  man  of  ability. 

"Ye  are  Mr.   Sypher?"     The  Irishman   got  his 


CHAPTER    THIRTY-TWO  303 

bearings  gradually  and  cautiously.  "  'Tis  surpris- 
ing— somewhat — your  reception.  I  trust  ye'll  par- 
don me  showing  it.  I  didn't  understand  ye  were 
expecting  me." 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  Sypher  rocked  back  in  his  desk- 
chair.  "  Certainly  I  should  be  justified  in  assuming 
that  my  letter  must  eventually  have  reached  a  gen- 
tleman of  reputation  as  international  as  your  own." 

"  True  for  ye,"  O'Rourke  agreed,  not  without 
a  certain  simple  dignity  in  permitting  the  flattery 
to  pass  unchallenged.  "  But  .  .  .  there's  been 
an  interval  of  some  months  between  me  receipt  of 
your  communication  and  me  appearance  here.  If 
I  were  to  tell  ye  what's  happened  to  me  in  the  mean- 
time, ye'd  understand  something  of  me  emotions 
just  now.  .  .  .  Faith,  'tis  meself  wouldn't  bet 
ye  or  anyone  else  a  penny  on  the  proposition  that 
I'm  really  here  at  last." 

"  I  don't  doubt  that."  Sypher  eyed  him  with  un- 
disguised interest.  "  It's  something  I  promise  my- 
self you'll  be  kind  enough  to  tell  me — later.  At 
present — the  business  day  is  closing."  He  paused 
significantly. 

O'Rourke  nodded.  "  I  have  it  here,"  said  he; 
"  safe  be  the  mercy  of  several  highly  potential 
saints!"  He  laughed  uneasily,  fumbling  in  his 
breast-pocket.  "  There  it  is,"  said  he,  tossing  the 
stone  in  its  chamois  covering  upon  the  solicitor's 
desk. 


304  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

Sypher  himself  betrayed  some  evidences  of  nerv- 
ousness as  he  sat  forward  and  lifted  the  case  by  its 
leathern  thongs.  He  let  it  dangle  before  him  for 
an  instant,  watching  it  with  a  curious,  speculative 
smile.  ..."  Well,"  he  said,  "  really  ...  !  " 
And  after  a  pause:  "I  congratulate  you,  Colonel 
O'Rourke.  And  I  admire  you  immensely. 
(You  see,  when  this  commission  was  offered  us,  I  con- 
sidered seriously  the  project  of  going  in  search  of 
you  in  person  and  bringing  the  stone  back  to  Ran- 
goon myself.  But  then — although  I'm  not  really  a 
timorous  man — I  knew  the  circumstances  so  well — I 
feared  I  should  never  reach  Rangoon  alive.  Yes." 
He  thrust  a  hand  into  his  waistcoat  pocket  and  pro- 
duced a  penknife,  with  which  he  began  to  slit  the 
stitches  that  enclosed  the  ruby.  "  You've  been  won- 
dering, no  doubt,  why  so  enormous  a  reward  was 
offered.  .  .  ." 

"  I  have  that,"  assented  O'Rourke. 

"  It  was  partly  because  of  the  danger,"  said 
Sypher,  intent  upon  his  occupation.  "  You  know, 
these  Burmese  are  a  curiously  pious  folk;  when  one 
of  them  grows  rich  he  employs  the  major  part  of 
his  fortune  in  building  a  temple — or  in  some  such 
work.  This  particular  gentleman — a  very  wealthy 
merchant — chose  to  give  half  of  what  he  had  to  the 
restoration  of  the  Pool  of  Flame  to  the  Buddha 
from  which  it  was  originally  stolen.  But  he,  too, 
was  afraid.  He's  superstitious  about  the  stone — 

•r 


CHAPTER    THIRTY-TWO  305 

believes  it  bad  luck  to  touch  it  so  long  as  it  remains 
away  from  its  Buddha.  So  he  came  to  us.  ... 
I  myself  am  not  superstitious,  but  .  .  ." 

He  ceased  to  speak  abruptly,  for  the  Pool  of 
Flame  lay  naked,  a  blinding  marvel,  in  the  hollow 
of  his  palm.  O'Rourke  heard  him  gasp  and  was 
conscious  of  his  hastened  respiration.  Watching 
the  man  intently,  he  saw  a  strange  shade  of  pallor 
colour  his  face. 

"  'Tis  meself ,"  said  the  adventurer,  "  that's  no 
more  superstitious  than  ye,  sir.  Yet  I'm  willing  to 
confess  I'm  glad  the  thing's  out  of  me  hands  at 
last." 

Sypher  seemed  to  recollect  himself  as  one  coming 
out  of  a  state  of  stupor.  He  stood  up  and  buttoned 
the  ruby  carefully  into  a  pocket  of  his  trousers. 
"  Come,"  he  said  crisply.  "  Let  us  step  across  the 
street  to  the  bank.  The  money's  there  for  you,  sir 
— the  reward." 


CHAPTER 
THIRTY-THREE 

BACK  in  his  stateroom  on  the  Poonah,  O'Rourke 
threw  himself  into  the  lower  berth  and  there  lay,  a 
forearm  flung  across  his  eyes,  thinking  excitedly, 
disturbed  by  formless  forebodings. 

Beside  him  Danny  was  packing  industriously, 
with  now  and  again  a  pause  during  which  he  would 
stand  reflective,  his  gaze  fixed  upon  his  employer's 
face,  a  little  puzzled  and  perplexed. 

The  Poonah  was  pausing  overnight  to  discharge 
and  take  aboard  cargo;  for  this. reason  O'Rourke  in 
his  haste  to  get  ashore  had  not  delayed  to  take  his 
luggage  with  him.  .  .  .  On  deck,  fore  and  aft, 
donkey-engines  were  puffing  and  chugging  and 
chain  tackles  rattling  as  they  lifted  freight  to  and 
from  the  hold  and  the  lighters  alongside. 

Abruptly,  without  moving,  O'Rourke  spoke. 
"  I'll  want  evening  clothes,  Danny,"  .said  he.  "  'Tis 
dining  I  am  to-night  with  Mr.  Straker  and  his 
niece,  Miss  Pynsent,  who  came  with  us  from  Dia- 
mond Harbour.  'Twill  save  a  bit  of  bother  to  dress 
before  I  go  ashore." 

"  Aw-w,"  said  Danny,  assimilating.  ..."  And 
306 


CHAPTER   THIRTY-THREE  307 

the  Missus?"  he  said  suddenly,  some  minutes  later; 
"  M'anin'  Madam  O'Rourke,  sor.  Did  ye  get  no 
word  from  her?  " 

"  For  what  else  would  I  be  driving  to  every  hotel 
in  the  town  after  leaving  Mr.  Sypher,  Danny,  but  to 
inquire  for  her  ?  She's  not  here ;  but  she'll  come, 
,be  sure.  She's  still  got  several  days — three  or  four 
— in  which  to  keep  our  tryst.  'Tis  discontented  I 
am  not  to  find  her  waiting  for  me,  but  I'm  satisfied 
entirely  she'll  keep  faith." 

"  And,"  insisted  Danny  eagerly — "  beggin'  yer 
honour's  pardon — but  what  will  ye  have  to  tell  her, 
sor?  " 

O'Rourke  sat  up.  "Have  to  tell  her?  What 
d'ye  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean,  sor,  I'm  dyin'  wid  the  wish  to  know  how 
ut's  all  turned  out.  Plase,  yer  honour,  won't  ye  be 
tellin'  me?  Is  ut — is  ut  all  right?  " 

"  Bless  your  heart,  Danny ! "  laughed  O'Rourke. 
"  'Tis  so  dazed  I've  been  that  I  never  thought  to 
tell  ye — thinking  all  the  time  that  ye  knew.  'Tis 
all  right  indeed,  me  boy.  The  Pool  of  Flame's  in 
Mr.  Sypher's  keeping  and  the  money's  in  mine 
— in  the  bank,  Danny,  payable  to  me  order. 
Think  of  it — one  hundred  thousand  pounds  of  real 
money,  and  all  me  own.  'Tis  ridiculous,  'tis  absurd. 
'Tis  meself  hardly  credits  the  truth  of  it  all;  yet  I 
was  there — saw  the  man,  gave  him  the  jewel,  went 
to  the  bank  with  him  and  for  the  space  of  five  min- 


308 

utes  sat  at  a  table,  with  all  that  money  before  me — 
counting  it  over,  bill  by  bill,  a  square  hundred  of 
them,  each  for  a  thousand  pounds,  guaranteed  by 
the  Bank  of  England!  .  .  .  Think  of  that — all 
that  belonging  to  me — to  me,  O'Rourke!  .  .  ." 

"  Thank  God !  "  breathed  Danny  devoutly.  "  But 
did  ye  1'arn  nothin'  about  the  stone  ?  " 

"  Little  enough  Danny — only  a  part  of  the  mean- 
ing of  the  whole  divilish  business ;  the  rest  I'm  to 
know  to-night.  Mr.  Sypher  '11  be  telling  me  after 
we've  dined;  he  wants  to  hear  me  own  end  of  the 
story,  too.  .  .  .  Hand  me  those  shoes — no, 
idiot,  the  button  ones.  I  must  be  hurrying,  not  to 
be  late.  'Tis  a  surprise  the  man's  promised  me — 
*  and  the  reverse  of  unpleasant,'  said  he.  I'd  like  to 
know  what  that  can  be.  .  .  ." 

He  stood  up  and  scrambled  into  the  shirt  Danny 
held  for  him,  but  while  fumbling  with  the  studs,  fell 
again  into  a  thoughtful  and  troubled  humour. 

"  I  can't  believe  'tis  all  come  true,"  he  averred 
soberly.  "  'Tis  wholly  out  of  reason  and  insane ;  be 
rights  this  business  should  have  wound  up  in  a 
fracas  the  like  of  which  neither  you  nor  myself  has 
ever  known.  This  peace  passes  me  understanding 
altogether;  'tis  unnatural,  like  the  calm  before  a 
storm.  I'm  mistrustful  of  it;  I  fear  'tis  early  yet 
for  us  to  be  congratulating  ourselves  on  having  the 
Pool  of  Flame  off  our  hands  for  good  and  all.  Mark 
me  words,  Danny.  .  .  ." 


CHAPTER   THIRTY-THREE  309 

"  And  what'll  them  be? "  asked  Danny,  open- 
mouthed. 

"  There's  a  storm  brewing,"  said  O'Rourke  with 
conviction. 

"  The  Saints  forbid !  "  murmured  Danny  piously. 

Sypher  had  very  explicitly  named  his  dinner-hour, 
after  the  formal  English  fashion,  nowhere  and  by 
nobody  more  rigidly  observed  than  by  the  Eng- 
lishman in  the  Orient ;  "  eight  for  eight-thirty,"  he 
had  said.  And  as  O'Rourke,  a  very  dignified  and 
imposing  O'Rourke  in  his  evening  dress,  waited  for 
a  sampan  on  the  lower  grating  of  the  Poonah's 
passenger  gangway  he  had  a  round  three-quarters 
of  an  hour  for  leeway — ample  leisure  for  an  inter- 
ested inspection  of  that  part  of  Rangoon  lying  be- 
tween the  floating  jetty  and  Sypher's  residence  in 
a  suburb  near  Dalhousie  Park. 

Danny  remained  aboard  ship  only  temporarily,  be- 
ing instructed  to  follow  with  O'Rourke's  belongings 
to  suitable  accommodations  already  engaged  at  a 
hotel  on  the  Strand,  overlooking  the  roadstead ;  from 
whose  windows  O'Rourke  was  promising  himself  the 
pleasure  of  watching  the  arrival  of  the  steamship 
bearing  his  wife  to  his  arms. 

"  Bless  her  dear  face ! "  said  he  softly.  "  'Tis 
meself  will  be  desolated  if  she's  not  aboard  that  Mes- 
sageries  boat  due  to-morrow — now  that  I  can  go 
back  to  her.  a  man  of  property,  no  longer  a  pauper 
ne'er-do-well !  Think  of  that,  ye  lucky  dog !  " 


310  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

A  sampan  slid  noiselessly  in  beside  the  grating. 
O'Rourke  let  himself  cautiously  into  it  and  incon- 
tinently collapsed  upon  the  rear  seat  as  the  boat 
slid  away  toward  the  shore  lights,  yielding  to  the 
vigorous  sweeps  of  the  single  long  oar  wielded  by 
the  Burman  in  the  bows. 

Here  and  there  overhead  thin  and  ragged  shreds 
of  cloud  blurred  the  brilliance  of  the  sky.  Between 
the  Rangoon  shore  where  the  city,  beneath  a  haze 
luminous  and  golden,  pulsed  and  throbbed  with  its 
noisy  nocturnal  life,  to  the  Dalla  side,  still  and  dim 
behind  its  barrier  lights,  the  river  rolled  like  a  flood 
of  ink,  its  burnished  surface  shot  with  parti-coloured 
streamers  of  radiance  from  jetty  beacons  and  the 
riding-lights  of  the  night-enshrouded  fleet. 

Suspended  far  above  the  seething  city  a  star  hung 
like  a  planet  in  leash,  at  the  peak  of  the  invisible 
spire  of  the  Shway  Dagon. 

Down-stream  and  up,  like  water-insects,  sampans 
skimmed  silently,  flitting  shadows  merging  into 
shadows ;  low,  muted  echoes  of  laughter,  like  broken 
chords  of  gentle  music,  drifted  across  the  tide.  The 
waters  gnawed  and  growled  at  the  great  stark  flanks 
of  the  vessels  beneath  whose  sterns  and  before  whose 
prows  the  sampan  swept. 

A  native  river-boat  with  knife-like  stem  and  tow- 
ering, stately  stern,  passed,  surging  swiftly  up 
against  the  current,  oars  dipping  and  rising  in 
steady,  rhythmic  splashings,  lanternlight  disclosing 


CHAPTER   THIRTY-THREE  311 

rows  of  oarsmen,  bare  backs  glistening  like  black 
silk  as  they  bent  and  recovered. 

The  day  had  died  in  gentle  winds,  and  now  by 
night  suave  airs  breathed  down  from  inland,  little 
breezes  heavy  laden  with  a  strange,  sweet  smell,  and 
melancholy,  as  if  conscious  that  they  wafted  a  multi- 
tude of  souls  of  gentle  flowers  out  to  the  Nirvana 
of  the  sea. 

"  A  fair  land,"  commented  O'Rourke.  "  Faith, 
'tis  meself  wonders  that  men  linger  in  the  cold,  pale 
West,  when  there's  all  this  to  be  seen,  to  be  felt 
and  known,  for  the  seeking." 

Ashore,  a  tikkagharry  caught  him  up  and  bore 
him  down  the  silent  road  that  winds  between  the 
Strand  and  the  river's  edge,  then  whipped  into- 
Mogul  Street,  where  the  fluent  tide  of  life  ran  broad 
and  deep  beneath  a  glare  of  light.  And  for  a  time 
the  gharriwallah  piloted  his  fare  slowly  through  a 
concourse  of  nations :  keen,  gaunt  Chin  from  the 
Hills  pausing  to  purchase  cherroots  from  side- 
walk stalls  attended  by  partridge-plump  Burmese 
girls ;  Tommies  and  kilted  Scots  elbowing  one  an- 
other, all  moderately  the  worse  for  drink ;  Chinese 
strutting  in  all  the  pomp  and  panoply  of  their  bizarre 
festal  costumes ;  Sikhs  chatting  with  members  of  the 
municipal  police;  Japanese,  silent,  furtive,  sly  and 
efficient;  vendors  of  a  dozen  tribes  and  castes  offer- 
ing their  wares  of  betel-nut,  pineapple,  cooked  foods 
and  tobacco ;  naked  and  marvelling  natives  from  the 


THE    POOL    OF    FLAME 

Southern  Provinces ;  coolies  pattering  madly  be- 
tween shafts  of  spidery  rickshaws  wherein  lolled 
Europeans  in  evening  attire,  like  O'Rourke  bound 
for  their  late  dinners ;  Suratis,  Karen,  Shan  princes 
with  their  retinues.  .  .  .  An  epitome  of  the 
East:  the  East  indolent,  alluring,  insolent,  that 
sang  in  the  wanderer's  willing  ear  its  age-old,  subtle 
siren-song,  wooing  him,  insinuating  itself  once 
again  into  its  niche  in  his  heart,  flattering  him,  win- 
ning him  with  the  elusive  caress  of  its  fragrant 
breath.  .  .  . 

All  too  quickly  the  tikka  whisked  out  of  the  main 
channel  of  the  city's  life,  out  beyond  the  Mohamme- 
dan mosque  and  the  Chetti's  hall  and  the  Christian 
chapel,  and  into  the  soft,  dense  night  of  the  coun- 
tryside— a  world  of  darkness  sparsely  studded  with 
dim,  glowing  windows ;  and  all  too  soon,  again,  it 
swung  off  from  the  highway  into  a  private  drive, 
crunched  over  gravel,  and  stopped  before  the  illumi- 
nated veranda  of  a  native  bungalow. 

O'Rourke  got  down,  discharged  the  driver  and 
ascended  the  steps,  a  little  puzzled  to  find  no  one 
waiting  to  welcome  him,  whether  Sypher,  Miss  Pyn- 
sent,  or  at  worst  a  servant.  Surely  he  was  expected. 
.  .  .  But  nobody  appeared.  The  grating  tires 
of  the  departing  tikkagharry  had  made  noise  enough 
io  apprise  the  household  of  the  arrival  of  its  guest, 
one  would  think.  Nevertheless,  O'Rourke  remained 
ungreeted. 


Grinning  with  anguish,  the  man     .     .      .      stag- 
gered and,  throwing  back  his  arm,  flung  the 
Pool  of  Flame  from  him  with  all  his  might  " 

(Page  261) 


CHAPTER   THIRTY-THREE  313 

He  stroked  his  chin,  perplexed,  wondering  if  by 
mischance  the  native  driver  had  brought  him  to  the 
wrong  bungalow.  But  it  was  now  too  late  to  call 
him  back  and  make  sure.  And  this  veranda,  still 
and  empty  as  it  was,  softly  lighted  by  lanterns  de- 
pendent from  its  roof,  was  to  him  a  small  oasis  in 
a  world  of  darkness.  Without  advice  he  was  lost, 
could  find  his  way  no  other  where.  He  would  have 
simply  to  wait  until  the  household  came  to  life,  or 
until  by  his  own  efforts  he  succeeded  in  quickening  it. 

He  tried  to  do  this  latter  to  the  best  of  his  ability 
by  tapping  a  summons  on  the  door- jamb.  Through 
the  wire  insect-screens  a  broad  hallway  and  a  stair- 
case rising  to  the  upper  floor  were  visible.  Limp, 
cool-looking  rugs  conceived  in  pleasing  colour- 
schemes  protected  the  hardwood  flooring.  To  the 
right  a  door  stood  ajar  and  permitted  a  broad  shaft 
of  light  to  escape  from  the  room  beyond.  On 
the  other  hand  a  similar  door,  likewise  open,  showed 
a  dimmer  glow.  Two  other  doors  were  closed; 
O'Rourke  assumed  that  they  led  to  the  kitchen-offices. 

Having  waited  a  few  moments  without  event,  the 
Irishman  knocked  a  second  time,  and  would  have 
knocked  a  third  when  he  thought  better  of  it  and 
glanced  at  his  watch.  It  was  only  a  matter  of  ten 
minutes  after  eight ;  strictly  interpreting  the  intent 
of  Sypher's  invitation,  he  was  a  trifle  early.  Pre- 
sumably the  servants  were  all  out  of  earshot,  pre- 
occupied with  preparations  for  the  meal;  while 


314  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

Sypher  and  his  niece  were  most  probably  still  dress- 
ing. 

With  an  impatient  air  O'Rourke  turned  back  to 
the  veranda.  A  hammock  in  one  corner  was  swing- 
ing idly  in  the  breeze.  A  number  of  Avicker  arm- 
chairs stood  about,  invitingly  furnished  with 
cushions.  O'Rourke  selected  one  and  disposed  him- 
self to  wait. 

After  five  minutes  he  frowned  thoughtfully  and 
lit  a  cigarette. 

When  an  additional  ten  minutes  had  elapsed  with- 
out a  sound  being  heard  in  the  house,  he  forgot  to 
be  angry,  and  began  to  feel  uneasy.  Something  in 
the  deathlike  silence  of  the  place  proved  infinitely 
disturbing.  He  got  up,  stamped  heavily  to  the 
door  and  knocked  again  with  no  uncertain  vigour; 
and,  presently,  again  and  more  loudly  still. 

Behind  him  the  jungle-like  gardens  round  the 
bungalow  were  almost  imperceptibly  astir  with  whis- 
perings and  stealthy  rustlings  of  foliage:  the  night 
singing  gently  in  its  mystery  of  the  world  be- 
yond. .  .  . 

"  I  don't  like  it ! "  O'Rourke  exclaimed  suddenly. 
The  crisp  rattle  of  the  syllables  jangled,  dissonant  in 
the  silence.  He  had  an  odd  sensation  as  of  being 
rebuked  for  some  unwarrantable  presumption,  some 
lawless  trespass  upon  sacred  precincts. 

"  But  it  isn't  right,"  he  argued  in  a  lower  tone. 

He  put  a  hand  upon  the  knob  of  the  screen  door, 


CHAPTER   THIRTY-THREE  315 

but  thought  again  and  turned  away ;  it  was  not  his 
place  to  invade  the  home  of  a  man  who  was  hardly 
more  than  a  chance  acquaintance,  no  matter  how 
unpleasantly  impressed  he  might  be  by  the  circum- 
stances in  which  he  found  himself. 

"  Faith,  'tis  a  fine  surprise  he's  given  me,"  he 
said,  irresolute.  "  But  it  can't  be  premeditated 
insult.  Why  should  it  be?  And  they  can't  all  be 
out.  'Tis  sorry  I  am  I  let  that  driver  go ;  more 
than  likely  this  will  be  the  wrong  house  entirely. 
That  must  be  the  trouble.  I'll  just  go,  quietly  fold 
up  me  tent  and  decamp  before  the  inhabitants,  if 
any  there  be,  discover  me  and  run  me  off  the  prem- 
ises." 

But  at  the  head  of  the  steps,  with  foot  poised 
to  descend,  something  restrained  him ;  it  would  be 
difficult  to  say  what,  unless  it  were  the  unbroken, 
steadfast,  uncanny  quiet.  "  I'll  have  a  look,"  he 
determined  suddenly ;  "  perhaps  .  .  ." 

He  turned  to  the  right  and  stopped  before  a  long, 
open  window,  looking  into  what  seemed  to  be  a 
music-room  and  library  combined.  Brightly  illumi- 
nated by  hanging  lamps  of  unusual  brilliancy,  the 
interior  was  clearly  revealed.  And  with  an  abrupt 
exclamation  the  adventurer  entered,  feeling  for  the 
revolver,  to  carry  which  had  of  late  become  habitual 
with  him. 

The  room  was  simply  furnished,  if  tastefully. 
There  was  a  grand  piano  near  the  veranda  windows 


316  THE   POOL    OF   FLAME 

with  a  music  rack  and  cabinet  near  by.  Dispersed 
about  the  floor  were  a  few  comfortable  chairs,  a  rug 
of  rare  Oriental  texture,  two  consoles  adorned  with 
valuable  porcelains.  In  the  middle  of  the  room 
stood  a  draped  centre-table  littered  with  books  and 
magazines ;  toward  the  back  a  long,  flat-topped 
desk.  And  against  the  rear  wall,  ordinarily  hidden 
by  a  folding  screen  of  Japanese  manufacture,  now 
swept  aside,  was  a  small  steel  safe.  Upon  this 
O'Rourke's  attention  was  centred.  He  remarked 
that  it  looked  new  and  very  strong ;  it  was  open,  dis- 
closing a  variety  of  pigeonholes  more  or  less  occu- 
pied by  docketed  documents,  and  a  smaller  interior 
strong-box. 

Between  the  desk  and  the  safe  a  man  lay  prone 
and  quite  motionless.  He  was  dressed  for  a  cere- 
monious dinner,  and  apparently  had  been  struck 
down  in  the  act  of  stepping  from  his  desk  to  the 
safe.  For  beyond  all  doubt  he  had  been  murdered. 
The  haft  of  a  knife  protruded  from  his  back,  buried 
to  its  hilt  just  beneath  his  left  shoulder-blade. 

O'Rourke  moved  over  to  the  body  and  lifted  it 
by  the  shoulders,  turning  the  face  to  the  light. 
Then,  with  a  low  oath,  he  dropped  it. 

A  small  sound,  so  slight  as  to  be  all  but  indis- 
tinguishable, penetrated  O'Rourke's  stupefaction. 
He  stood  erect,  looking  about,  telling  himself  that 
the  noise  resembled  as  much  as  anything  the  hushed 
cry  of  a  child  sobbing  in  sleep,  soft  .and  infinitely 


CHAPTER   THIRTY-THREE  817 

pathetic.  Unable  to  assign  its  source  elsewhere,  he 
at  first  attributed  it  to  the  stricken  man  at  his  feet ; 
and  in  a  desperate  hope  that  the  pulse  of  life  might 
still  linger  in  Sypher's  body,  he  knelt,  withdrew  the 
knife,  turned  the  corpse  upon  its  back,  and  laid 
his  ear  to  its  breast,  above  the  heart. 

He  could  not  detect  a  flutter,  yet,  hoping  against 
hope,  he  turned  back  the  eyelid  and  examined  the 
cold  staring  pupil.  With  a  despairing  shake  of  his 
head  he  stood  up  and  cast  about  for  something  suit- 
able for  the  final  test,  discovering  upon  the  desk 
a  long,  thin  steel  paper-cutter  with  a  brightly  pol- 
ished surface.  And  kneeling  once  more,  he  held  the 
flat  of  the  blade  before  the  pale,  parted  lips.  A  mo- 
ment's experiment  was  enough;  no  trace  of  breath 
dimmed  the  lustre  of  the  steel.  Beyond  dispute, 
Sypher  was  dead. 

"  Poor  divvle ! "  muttered  the  Irishman.  .  .  . 
"The  Pool  of  Flame!  .» 


CHAPTER 
THIRTY-FOUR 

FOB  several  minutes  O'Rourke  remained  beside  the 
body,  making  two  notable  discoveries.  For  he  was 
quick  to  note  the  fact  that  one  of  the  dead  man's 
hands  was  tightly  clenched,  while  the  other  lay 
half-open  and  limp.  The  former  was  closed  upon  a 
leather  thong  so  stout  as  to  resist  any  attempt  to 
break  it  by  main  strength,  so  firmly  held  that  the 
murderer  had  found  it  necessary  to  sever  it  with  a 
knife.  The  knife  itself  was  there,  for  proof  of  this ; 
the  sheen  of  light  upon  its  mother-of-pearl  handle 
caught  the  Irishman's  eye. 

Picking  it  up,  he  subjected  it  to  a  close  examina- 
tion that,  however,  gleaned  no  information.  It  was 
simply  a  small  pocket  penknife,  little  worn,  with 
blades  of  German  steel.  It  carried  no  identifying 
marks  and  told  him  but  one  thing — that  the  assassin 
had  been  a  European ;  a  native  would  never  have 
bothered  with  so  ineffectual  a  thing  when  a  sturdy 
weapon,  serviceable  alike  for  offence  or  defence, 
would  have  served  its  purpose  equally  well. 

From  this  he  turned  to  the  dagger  which  he  had 
taken  from  the  body ;  a  stiletto  with  a  plain  ebony 

318 


CHAPTER   THIRTY-FOUR  319 

handle,  unmarked,  unscratched,  apparently  fresh 
from  the  dealer's  showcase.  It  meant  nothing,  save 
that  it  indicated  still  more  strongly  that  the  mur- 
derer was  most  probably  not  a  native.  A  Greek  or 
an  Italian,  a  Genoese  sailor  or  a  native  of  Southern 
France — say  a  seafaring-man  out  of  Marseilles—- 
might have  carried  it. 

"  Oho !  "  said  O'Rourke,  speculative.  "  A  French- 
man, mayhap  1 " 

He  got  up,  satisfied  that  he  would  learn  nothing 
more  by  continuing  his  search  of  the  solicitor's 
body.  The  mental  link  between  the  fact  of  the 
crime  and  its  perpetrator  was  inevitable;  O'Rourke 
believed  implicitly  that  Sypher  had  been  murdered 
by  Des  Trebes  masquerading  as  "  De  Hyeres." 
And  he  could  have  done  himself  an  injury  in  the 
impotent  fury  roused  by  realisation  that  he  had 
permitted  himself  to  be  so  childishly  hoodwinked, 
despite  the  suspicions  he  had  entertained  of 
the  soi-disant  "De  Hyeres."  He  felt  himself  re- 
sponsible, since  he  had  neglected  to  warn  Sypher. 
It  had  been  on  his  tongue's  tip  that  afternoon,  when 
Sypher  himself  had  diverted  the  warning  by  his 
request  that  the  O'Rourke  could  more  comfortably 
spin  his  yarn  after  they  had  dined. 

"  Poor  divvle !  "  said  the  adventurer  again.  He 
stooped  to  spread  his  handkerchief  over  the  staring, 
pitiful  face.  "  And  poor,  poor  young  woman !  " 

He  was  startled  by  the  thought  of  her;  for  the 


320  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

first  time  it  entered  into  his  comprehension,  until 
then  bounded  by  the  hard  and  fast  fact  of  the  mur- 
der. Now  instantly  his  concern  about  the  crime  was 
resolved  into  solicitude  for  the  girl.  What  could 
have  happened  to  her?  What  had  become  of  the 
servants,  whose  sudden  desertion  had  left  the  house 
so  sinisterly  quiet? 

Swept  on  by  a  fervour  of  anxiety  on  the  girl's  be- 
half, O'Rourke  glanced  quickly  about  the  study  to 
assure  himself  that  he  had  overlooked  nothing  of 
importance,  then  passed  out  into  the  main  hall  or 
reception-room.  Here  the  most  searching  inspection 
revealed  nothing  amiss.  He  moved  on  to  the  other 
room  on  the  main  floor  and  found  himself  in  the 
dining-room;  here  again  all  was  in  perfect  order. 
The  pretty,  round  table  in  the  centre  had  been  care- 
fully set  for  a  party  of  four  and  wore  an  air  of 
expectancy,  he  thought — of  patient  waiting  to  dis- 
charge its  cordial  function.  Not  a  spoon  or  knife 
or  fork  was  out  of  place  or  missing.  Only,  the 
candles  in  the  five-armed  silver  candelabrum  needed 
snuffing. 

The  sole  illumination  of  the  room,  the  candles 
furnished  a  good  light,  however,  protected  as  they 
were  from  draughts  by  transparent  cylinders  of 
mica ;  and  observing  this  the  wanderer  swept  away 
the  dainty,  trifling  silken  shades  and,  catching  up 
the  candelabrum  itself,  bore  it  with  him  on  his  round 
of  investigation. 


CHAPTER    THIRTY-FOUR 

The  kitchen  offices  in  the  rear  of  the  house  next 
received  his  attention;  he  found  them  completely 
untenanted,  having  apparently  been  abandoned  in 
desperate  haste.  Everything  was  in  disorder;  the 
meal  he  had  been  invited  to  partake  of  was  cooking 
to  cinders  in  pots  and  ovens ;  a  heavy  offence 
of  burning  food  thickened  the  atmosphere.  Half- 
stifled,  he  left  the  place  as  quickly  as  possible,  re- 
turned to  the  main  hall  and  ascended  to  the  upper 
story. 

Here  he  found  three  bed-chambers  and  a  bath. 
He  first  entered  Sypher's,  then  the  room  evidently 
occupied  by  Miss  Pynsent,  finally  what  was  unques- 
tionably a  guest-chamber,  discovering  nothing  note- 
worthy until  he  reached  the  latter.  And  here  he 
received  a  shock.  Thrown  carelessly  across  the  foot 
of  the  bed  was  a  woman's  evening-wrap,  while  on  the 
bureau  were  gloves,  long,  white  and  fresh,  but  wrin- 
kled from  recent  wear,  and  a  silken  veil.  Plainly 
these  were  the  property  of  the  fourth  guest,  whose 
place  had  been  set  at  the  table  below,  but  of  whose 
identity  he  had  not  been  apprised.  Presumably,  he 
reflected,  she  (whoever  she  was)  had  been  intended  as 
the  fulfilment  of  Sypher's  hinted  surprise. 

A  guess  formed  vaguely  in  his  brain,  and  sud- 
denly curdled  into  a  suspicion.  He  took  the  gloves 
in  his  hand,  examining  them  for  marks  of  identifica- 
tion, but  found  none.  But  in  one  corner  of  the  veil 
he  discovered  an  embroidered  initial — the  letter  B. 


"Beatrix?"  he  guessed  huskily.  "Is  it  pos- 
sible? .  .  .  He  promised  me  a  surprise.  .  .  . 
'Twould  have  been  like  her  to  plan  it  with  him — * 
and  'tis  quite  possible  she  reached  Rangoon  before 
I.  ...  My  wife!  .  .  ." 

Hastily  he  returned  to  the  evening-wrap,  a  fas- 
cinating contrivance  of  lace  and  satin  unquestionably 
the  last  cry  of  the  Parisian  mode,  such  a  wrap  as 
his  wife  might  well  have  worn.  But  beyond  Paquin's 
label  stitched  inside  its  dainty  pocket  it  boasted  no 
distinguishing  mark.  .  .  . 

He  stumbled  hurriedly  from  the  room  and  down 
the  stairs,  leaving  the  candelabrum  on  a  table  in 
the  hall  and  returning  to  the  study  where  Sypher's 
body  lay;  tortured  by  mounting  fears,  he  stood 
and  looked  blankly  about  him,  at  a  loss  where 
next  to  turn,  if  almost  preternaturally  alive  to  every 
sound  or  sight  that  might  afford  him  a  clue.  .  .  . 
He  fought  against  a  suspicion  that  crawled  like  a 
viper  in  his  brain.  Had  he,  after  all,  been  deceived 
in  Sypher's  niece,  Miss  Pynsent?  Had  that  inno- 
cent charm  of  hers  been  a  thing  assumed,  a  cloak 
for  criminal  duplicity?  Had  she  in  reality  been  Des 
Trebes'  accomplice?  Had  those  clear  and  limpid 
eyes  of  youth,  all  through  that  voyage  been  looking 
forward  to  such  a  scene,  to  such  a  tragic  ending  as 
this?  Could  she  have  afforded  the  Frenchman  the 
aid  he  needed  to  consummate  his  chosen  crime? 

For  he  was  now  ready  to  believe  Des  Trebes  the 


CHAPTER   THIRTY-FOUR 

prime  mover  in  this  terrible  affair;  he  no  longer 
entertained  a  shred  of  doubt  that  his  'enemy  had 
travelled  with  him  from  Calcutta  under  the  disguise 
of  "  De  Hyeres."  And  he  believed  the  man  had 
planned  this  thing  far  ahead;  else  would  he  have 
surely  taken  some  overt  steps  to  prevent  O'Rourke 
from  delivering  the  ruby  to  Sypher.  He  divined 
acutely  that,  despairing  of  any  further  attempt  to 
win  the  jewel  from  him,  Des  Trebes  had  turned  his 
wits  to  the  task  of  stealing  it  from  Sypher:  some- 
body naturally  much  less  to  be  feared  than  the  ad- 
venturer. 

But  on  the  other  hand,  if  the  girl  had  not  been 
Des  Trebes*  assistant — what  had  become  of  her? 
And  what  of  her  guest — the  lady  one  of  whose 
initials  was  B? 

It  was  not  inconsistent  with  Des  Trebes'  whole- 
hearted villainy  that  he  should  employ  a  gang  of 
thugs  sufficiently  large  to  overpower  and  make  away 
with  bodily  and  in  a  body  Miss  Pynsent,  her  guest 
and  the  servants.  "  Great  God !  "  cried 
O'Rourke.  "  If  it  be  in  truth  my  wife !  " 

Without  presage  a  thin  but  imperative  tintin- 
nabulation broke  upon  the  silence  of  the  house  of 
death.  O'Rourke  jumped  as  if  shot.  Somewhere  in 
one  of  the  other  rooms  a  telephone-bell  was  ringing. 
It  ceased,  leaving  a  strident  stillness ;  but  before 
he  could  move  to  find  the  instrument  and  answer  the 
call,  there  rose  a  second  time  that  moaning  sob 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

which  first  he  had  attributed  to  an  impassible  source, 
then,  in  the  turmoil  of  his  thoughts,  had  forgotten. 

He  waited,  listening  intently.  The  telephone 
called  again  and  again  subsided.  Then  a  third  time 
he  heard  the  groan,  more  faint  than  before,  but 
sufficiently  loud  to  suggest  its  source.  He  moved 
warily  toward  the  windows  and  out  upon  the 
veranda — hounded  by  the  telephone.  But  that  would 
have  to  wait ;  here  was  a  more  urgent  matter  to  his 
hand.  Between  the  long  insistent  rings  the  groaning 
was  again  audible;  and  this  time  he  located  it  ac- 
curately. It  came  from  the  lawn,  near  the  edge  of 
the  veranda.  He  stepped  off  carefully,  but  almost 
stumbled  over  the  body  of  a  man  who  lay  there, 
huddled  and  moaning. 

"  And  another ! "  whispered  the  adventurer,  awed. 
"  Faith,  this  Pool  of  Flame  .  .  . !  " 

He  was  at  once  completely  horrified  and  utterly 
dumbfounded.  Nothing  he  had  come  upon  within 
the  bungalow  seemed  to  indicate  that  there  had  been 
anything  in  the  nature  of  a  struggle  prior  to  the 
assassination  of  Sypher.  He  had  up  to  this  moment 
considered  it  nothing  but  a  cold-blooded  and  cow- 
ardly murder;  the  man  had  apparently  been  struck 
down  from  behind  in  total  ignorance  of  his  dan- 
ger. O'Rourke  had  deduced  that  Sypher  had  risen 
from  the  desk  to  put  the  jewel  in  his  safe ;  and  that 
while  he  was  so  engaged  the  assassin,  till  then 
skulking  outside  the  long  windows  and  waiting  for 


CHAPTER    THIRTY-FOUR  325 

a  moment  when  his  victim's  back  should  be  turned, 
had  entered  and  struck.  .  .  .  But  how  could 
he  reconcile  that  hypothesis  with  this  man  who  lay 
weltering  and  at  the  point  of  death  at  the  veranda's 
edge? 

Indeed,  he  could  not  do  so.  But  this  victim,  at 
least,  was  not  yet  dead ;  if  he  had  strength  to  moan, 
he  might  yet  be  revived,  at  least  temporarily. 

Without  delay,  then,  the  Irishman  grasped  the 
man  beneath  his  armpits,  and,  lifting  him  bodily  to 
the  veranda,  dragged  him  into  the  library.  Not 
until  he  had  placed  him  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
beneath  the  glare  of  lamplight,  did  O'Rourke  have 
an  opportunity  to  observe  his  features.  But  now 
as  he  dropped  to  his  knees  beside  the  body,  his  won- 
dering cry  testified  to  immediate  recognition. 

The  latest  name  to  be  inscribed  on  the  long  and 
blood-stained  death-roll  of  the  Pool  of  Flame  was 
that  of  Paul  Maurice,  Vicomte  des  Trebes;  or,  if 
there  were  life  enough  left  in  the  man  to  enable  him 
to  insist  upon  his  nom  de  guerre  (the  wanderer  re- 
flected grimly)  Raoul  de  Hyeres. 

"  What  next  ?  "  wondered  O'Rourke.  "  What  can 
the  meaning  of  it  all  be  now  ?  " 

With  each  development  the  mystery  was  assuming 
more  fantastic  proportions,  becoming  still  more  im- 
penetrable and  unsolvable.  But  he  had  no  leisure  in 
which  to  ponder  it  now,  if  Des  Trebes  were  to  be 
restored.  And  O'Rourke  worked  over  the  man  as 


326  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

tenderly  as  though  they  had  been  lifelong  friends, 
with  skilful  fingers  estimating  the  nature  and  ex- 
tent of  his  wounds,  with  sound  knowledge  of  rough 
and  ready  surgery  doing  all  that  could  be  done  to 
bring  him  back  to  consciousness. 

Only  the  faintest  of  respirations  moved  the 
Frenchman's  breast ;  to  all  other  appearance  he  was 
lifeless,  indisputably  beyond  salvation.  His  body 
was  a  mass  of  wounds ;  in  the  torso  alone  O'Rourke 
found  no  less  than  eleven  knife-thrusts,  and  these  all 
in  spots  normally  mortal.  That  he  retained  the 
least  glimmer  of  the  vital  spark  seemed  miraculous. 

Remembering  that  he  had  remarked  water  and 
wine  on  the  dining-room  buffet,  O'Rourke  went 
hastily  thither,  returning  with  a  carafe  of  the  former 
and  a  half-bottle  of  brandy.  With  these  judiciously 
applied,  it  was  still  a  matter  of  some  ten  minutes  ere 
he  succeeded  in  quickening  to  a  feeble  blaze  the  dying 
embers  of  vitality.  Then  at  last  Des  Trebes  sighed 
feebly;  a  spot  of  colour,  febrile,  fickle,  evanescent, 
dyed  his  cheeks ;  his  breath  rattled  harshly  in  his 
gullet;  his  eyelids  twitched  and  opened  wide.  He 
glared  blankly  at  the  face  above. 

"  Des  Trebes !  "  cried  O'Rourke.     "  Des  Trebes !  " 

His  voice  quickened  the  intelligence  of  that  mor- 
ibund brain.  A  flash  of  recognition  lighted  the 
staring  eyes.  The  lips  moved  without  sound. 

"Des  Trebes!" 

'*  Ah,  yes     .     .     .     the  Irishman     .     .     ." 


CHAPTER   THIRTY-FOUR  327 

The  whisper  was  barely  articulate. 

O'Rourke  put  to  his  lips  a  cup  of  brandy  diluted 
with  a  little  water.  "  Drink,"  he  pleaded,  "  and  try 
to  tell  me  what's  happened  to  ye.  Who  gave  ye 
these  wounds  ?  Try  to  speak." 

"  But     .     .     .     no     ...     I  shall  not   tell.'* 

"  But — good  God,  man !  ye've  been  murdered !  " 

The  white  lips  moved  again;  the  adventurer  bent 
his  ear  low  to  them. 

"  We  .  .  .  have  both  .  .  .  lost  .  .  . 
but  you  .  .  .  your  wife  .  .  ." 

"  My  wife!  " 

In  a  frenzy  O'Rourke  resumed  his  efforts  to 
strengthen  the  dying  man  with  spirits  and  water, 
but  Des  Trebes,  with  a  final  effort,  obstinately  shut 
his  teeth,  moving  his  head  imperceptibly  from  side 
to  side  in  token  of  his  stubborn  refusal. 

So  he  died,  implacable.  In  his  pale  cheeks  the 
flush  ebbed,  leaving  them  leaden ;  in  his  eyes  the  light 
faded ;  in  his  mortal  agony  they  became  glazed ; 
his  limbs  grew  rigid  and  the  death  sweat  stood  out 
on  his  pallid  forehead  and  hollow  temples.  A  violent 
tremor  shook  him  like  a  reed  in  the  wind.  And  then 
he  lay  cold  and  still,  malignant  and  lustreless  eyes 
still  staring  fixedly  at  the  face  of  him  whom  Des 
Trebes  of  his  own  accord  had  chosen  for  his  mortal 
enemy.  In  death  the  chiselled  features  remained  set 
in  a  smile  sardonic  and  triumphant.  Dying,  he  gave 
no  comfort  to  his  foe. 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

For  a  little  time  longer  O'Rourke  knelt  at  Des 
T rebes'  side,  watching  and  wondering.  Eventually 
he  sighed  heavily,  shook  his  head,  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  rose.  And,  rising,  he  perceived  for  the 
first  time  that  he  was  no  longer  alone  with  the  dead 
in  that  place. 

Kneeling  in  silence  by  the  vicomte's  side  he  had 
till  then  been  hidden  from  the  inner  doorway  to  the 
room  by  the  drapery  of  the  centre-table.  And  evi- 
dently it  was  this  circumstance  which  had  embold- 
ened a  man  to  slip  in  from  the  main  hall  and  ap- 
proach Sypher's  desk  at  the  back  of  the  room. 

As  O'Rourke  appeared  he  was  conscious  first  of 
something  moving  in  the  room — a  movement  caught 
vaguely  from  the  corners  of  his  eyes.  Then  he 
heard  a  stifled  cry  of  fright.  He  had  already  his 
revolver  in  his  hand,  so  instant  had  been  the  obedi- 
ence of  his  brain  and  body  to  the  admonition  of 
instinct. 

He  swung  about  with  the  weapon  poised,  crying: 
"  Stop !  "  The  other  man  was  apparently  trying  to 
escape  by  the  door  to  the  hall,  but  was  much  too 
far  from  it  to  escape  the  threatened  bullet.  A  jet 
of  fire  spurted  from  his  hand.  O'Rourke  heard  a 
crash  and  clatter  of  broken  window-glass  behind 
him.  Without  delay  or  conscious  aim  he  fired  and 
saw,  still  indistinctly  through  pungent  wreaths  of 
smoke,  the  figure  reel  and  collapse  upon  itself. 

The  man  had  hardly  fallen  ere  O'Rourke  stood 
over  him,  with  a  foot  firm  upon  one  arm,  while  he 


CHAPTER    THIRTY-FOUR  329 

bent  and  wrenched  a  revolver  from  relaxing  fingers. 
Then,  stepping  back,  he  took  stock  of  the  murderous- 
minded  intruder,  and  saw  at  his  feet,  writhing, 
coughing  and  spitting,  a  Chinese  coolie — a  type  of 
the  lowest  class,  his  face  a  set  yellow  mask,  stolid, 
unemotional,  brutalised.  Even  then  it  betrayed  little 
feeling;  only  the  slant-set  black  eyes  burned  with 
unquenchable  hatred  as  they  glared  up  at  the  con- 
queror. .  .  .  O'Rourke's  bullet  had  penetrated 
the  man's  chest;  and  as  he  squirmed  and  groaned 
through  his  sharpened  teeth  of  a  rat,  a  crimson  stain 
spread  on  the  bosom  of  his  coarse  white  blouse. 

Wholly  confounded,  O'Rourke  shook  an  amazed 
head.  A  third  element  had  been  added  to  the 
mystery  with  no  effect  other  than  to  render  it 
more  opaque  and  dense  than  before.  And  he  was 
unable  even  to  question  the  fellow,  for  he  himself 
knew  no  Pidgin  English,  and  even  should  he  find  a 
way  to  reach  that  low  intelligence  its  possessor 
would  probably  refuse  any  information. 

With  a  hopeless,  baffled  gesture,  the  adventurer 
turned  away,  debating  his  next  move.  The  tele- 
phone, its  raucous  voice  now  long  since  stilled,  came 
into  his  mind,  and  he  was  minded  to  leave  the  room 
and  find  it,  to  summon  aid. 

Before  he  could  move,  however,  a  footfall  on  the 
veranda  startled  him,  and  his  ears  were  ringing  with 
a  command  couched  in  terse,  curt  English: 

"Hands  up!" 


CHAPTER 
THIRTY-FIVE 

A  MAN  stood  in  one  of  the  windows,  his  figure  con- 
spicuous against  the  night  in  cool  white  linen  of 
a  semi-military  cut,  his  extended  right  hand  train- 
ing a  revolver  on  the  Irishman's  head. 

"  Faith ! "  cried  O'Rourke  with  genuine  relief, 
"  you're  more  welcome  than  a  snowfall  in  Hades. 
Good  evening  to  ye,  and  many  of  them." 

"Hands  up!" 

"  With  all  the  pleasure  in  the  world."  O'Rourke 
elevated  his  hands.  "  I've  two  revolvers  on  me  per- 
son," he  volunteered  amiably ;  "  before  ye  go  any 
further  ye'll  be  wanting  to  take  'em  away  from  me, 
I'm  not  doubting." 

"  From  what  I  see,  I  quite  believe  I  shall,"  agreed 
the  Englishman,  without  relaxing  his  unprejudiced 
attitude.  "At  all  events,  keep  your  hands  where 
they  are,  for  the  time  being.  .  .  .  What  the 
deuce  does  this  mean  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  yourself  and  I'll  make  ye  a  handsome 
present,"  returned  O'Rourke  composedly.  "  I've 
been  addling  me  wits  over  it  for  the  last  thirty  min- 
utes, but  neither  rhyme  nor  reason  can  I  read  into 

330 


CHAPTER    THIRTY-FIVE  331 

it.  But,  see  now:  would  ye  mind  relieving  me  of 
the  arsenal  I've  been  telling  ye  about,  that  I  may 
rest  me  arms  without  fear  of  being  punctured?  " 

The  other  laughed  shortly  and  entered  the  room 
— a  clean-limbed,  sturdy,  well  set-up  boy  of  four- 
or  five-and-twenty  or  thereabouts.  He  possessed, 
aside  from  an  emphatic  and  capable  manner,  good 
looks  enhanced  by  a  wide,  good-humoured  mouth. 
His  eyes  at  the  moment  were  professionally  cold  and 
alert,  rapidly  inventorying  the  room.  O'Rourke  was 
prepossessed  by  him  at  sight. 

"  You  might  help  me  out  a  bit,  you  know,"  said 
the  boy  briskly.  "  You've  been  so  free  with  your  in- 
formation that  I  don't  doubt  you  will  place  me  still 
further  under  obligation  to  you  by  turning  your 
back  and  depositing  your  weapons  on  that  table. 
Of  course,  I  needn't  bore  you  by  remarks  upon  the 
folly  of  false  moves." 

"  'Twould  be  quite  superfluous,"  replied  O'Rourke, 
obeying  with  a  fair  and  easy  grace.  "  There  now. 
What  else  may  be  your  pleasure?  " 

"  Move  back  three  paces  and  stand  still." 

"  Right-O,  me  lord." 

O'Rourke  executed  the  prescribed  evolution  and, 
at  rest,  heard  footsteps  behind  him ;  a  thought  later 
he  felt  the  Englishman's  hands  rapidly  going 
through  his  pockets.  Then,  with  a  "  very  good," 
the  latter  stepped  between  the  table  and  O'Rourke 
and  faced  him. 


THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

"  You've  apparently  told  the  truth  thus  far,"  he 
said.  "Now  what  d'you  know  about  this?"  He 
waved  a  hand  round  the  room.  "  Be  careful  what 
you  say.  I  may  as  well  inform  you  I'm  Couch 
— lieutenant — sub-chief  of  police  for  this  district." 

"  Saint  Patrick  would  be  no  more  welcome,"  de- 
clared O'Rourke.  "  I  was  on  the  point  of  trying  to 
get  ye  by  telephone  when  ye  saved  me  the  trouble. 
How  the  divvle  did  ye  happen  to  drop  in  so  oppor- 
tunely?" 

"  I  was  coming  up-stream  in  the  police  launch,  on 
the  night  tour  of  inspection,  and  stopped  at  the 
landing  just  below  this — the  grounds  here  run  down 
to  the  river,  you  know — to  telephone  back  to  head- 
quarters on  business.  The  exchange  operator  sug- 
gested I  look  in  here  and  see  if  everything  was  all 
right — said  he'd  been  unable  to  get  any  response 
since  nightfall.  .  .  .  Now? " 

Carefully  and  concisely  O'Rourke  wove  the  events 
of  the  day  into  a  straight  narrative,  starting  with 
the  delivery  to  Sypher  of  the  Pool  of  Flame,  touch- 
ing briefly  upon  Des  Trebes'  part — so  far  as  he  un- 
derstood it — and  concluding  with  the  death  of  the 
coolie.  The  sub-chief  of  police  eyed  him  throughout 
with  gravely  concentrated  interest,  nodding  his  un- 
derstanding. 

"  I  see,"  he  said  slowly.  "  You  make  it  clear 
enough.  Moreover,  you've  convinced  me.  I  didn't 
really  believe  from  the  first  you'd  had  any  hand  in 
this  ghastly  mess,  but  I  couldn't  take  chances,  of 


CHAPTER    THIRTY-FIVE  333 

course.  You're  at  liberty  to  take  up  these  pistols 
as  soon  as  you  please;  in  fact,  I  advise  you  to  do 
so  immediately.  From  what's  taken  place  already, 
you  may  have  need  of  'em  within  the  next  ten  sec- 
onds. .  .  .  Now  for  this  coolie.  If  he's  able  to 
speak,  I'll  get  some  information  out  of  him." 

"  'Tis  too  far  gone  he  is,  I'm  fearing." 

"We'll  soon  find  out."  The  Englishman  bent 
over  the  man,  who  was  now  very  quiet,  but,  by  the 
constant  flicker  of  his  cunning  eyes,  still  conscious. 
A  hasty  examination  told  the  investigator  all  he 
needed  to  know  about  the  nature  of  the  wound. 
"  He'll  not  last  long,"  said  Lieutenant  Couch,  and 
began  to  converse  with  the  local  vernacular  of  Pid- 
gin-English, about  one  word  in  ten  of  which  was  in- 
telligible to  O'Rourke.  As  he  continued  to  speak 
the  coolie's  scowl  darkened  and  he  interrupted  with 
a  negative  motion  of  his  head.  The  sub-chief  re- 
peated his  remarks  with  emphasis.  For  reply  he  got 
a  monosyllable  that  sounded,  as  much  as  anything 
else,  like  an  oath.  Couch  looked  up.  "  He  says  he 
wants  water,  and  I  suspect  he  won't  speak  until  he 
gets  it.  Can  you ?" 

O'Rourke  fetched  the  half-empty  carafe  and 
Couch  put  it  to  the  coolie's  lips,  permitting  him  to 
drink  as  much  as  he  liked.  But  as  soon  as  the  bottle 
was  removed  the  fellow  shut  his  mouth  like  a  trap 
and  refused  a  word  in  answer  to  the  lieutenant's  de- 
mands and  persuasions. 

"  Stubborn  brute,"   growled  Couch.      "  Most  of 


334  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

these  animals  here  belong  to  some  devilish  tong  or 
other,  and  they'd  rather  die  than  say  anything  touch- 
ing on  the  business  of  the  society  or  affecting  the 
interests  of  a  brother-member.  But  I  think  I  know 
a  way  to  bring  him  to  reason.  Hand  me  that  knife, 
please." 

Wondering,  O'Rourke  tendered  him  the  weapon 
that  had  brought  death  to  Sypher.  The  lieutenant 
wiped  it  callously  on  a  corner  of  the  coolie's  blouse 
and  held  the  keen  shining  blade  before  his  eyes,  ac- 
companying the  action  with  a  few  emphatic  phrases. 
A  curious  expression,  compounded  of  sullen  fury 
and  abject  panic  fright,  showed  in  the  Chinaman's 
eyes,  and  his  lips  were  as  if  by  magic  unsealed. 
However  reluctant,  he  began  to  chatter  and  spoke 
at  length,  delivering  himself  of  a  long  statement 
which  Couch  punctuated  now  and  again  with  perti- 
nent, leading  questions. 

At  length,  throwing  aside  the  knife,  he  jumped 
up,  strong  excitement  burning  in  his  eyes.  "  I've 
got  enough  from  him,"  he  said  rapidly.  "  I'll  explain 
later.  You'll  help — of  course;  your  wife's  involved 
as  well  as  Miss  Pynsent.  But  I  don't  think  you  need 
fear ;  we'll  be  in  time.  Are  you  ready  ?  .  .  .  Half 
a  minute;  I've  got  to  use  that  telephone." 

He  ran  out  into  the  hall,  rang  up  and  shouted  a 
number  into  the  receiver,  and  for  a  few  moments 
spoke  rapidly  in  a  Burmese  dialect.  O'Rourke  gath- 
ered that  he  was  speaking  with  a  native  subor- 
dinate at  the  police  headquarters  in  Rangoon. 


CHAPTER   THIRTY-FIVE  335 

Couch  swung  back  into  the  study.  "  Got  those  re- 
volvers, sir?  Then  come  along;  we'll  have  to  run  for 
it.  Fortunately  our  launch  is  handy;  other- 
wise .  .  ." 

He  sprang  across  the  veranda  and  down  to  the 
lawn,  O'Rourke  pelting  after  him. 


CHAPTER 
T  HIRTY-SIX 

TA  NIGHT  of  velvet  blackness,  softly  opaque,  lay  upon 
land  and  water.  The  police  launch,  shuddering  with 
the  vibrations  of  a  motor  running  at  high  tension, 
sped  down  the  silent  reaches  of  Rangoon  River  like 
a  hunted  ghost.  She  ran  without  lights,  these  hav- 
ing been  extinguished  by  Couch's  directions,  regard- 
less of  harbour  regulations  or  danger.  Happily  the 
hour  was  late  enough  to  relieve  them  of  much  fear 
of  trouble  with  other  craft;  the  upper  reaches  of 
the  river  were  practically  deserted. 

In  the  bow  Couch  was  handling  the  wheel  with 
the  nonchalance  of  one  from  whom  the  river  had  no 
secrets  by  night  or  day.  To  O'Rourke  it  seemed  no 
light  task  to  pilot  so  slight  a  craft  at  such  high 
speed  through  that  Stygian  darkness ;  yet  the  sub- 
chief  was  accomplishing  the  feat  without  a  discern- 
able  trace  of  fear  or  tremor  of  uncertainty. 

O'Rourke  sat  beside  him.  In  the  stern  a  police- 
orderly  acted  as  mechanic,  attending  to  the  motor. 
These  three,  no  more,  made  up  the  rescue  party. 

Though  devoured  by  impatience  and  anxiety, 
O'Rourke  forbore  to  question  Couch,  hesitating  to 

336 


CHAPTER    THIRTY-SIX  337 

divert  his  attention  from  his  task  and  knowing  that 
as  soon  as  he  could  the  young  lieutenant  would 
speak.  From  the  time  when  the  coolie  had  yielded, 
there  had  been  not  a  second's  rest  for  either ;  neither 
had  had  time  to  confer  save  on  questions  of  the  most 
immediate  moment;  and  control  of  these  Couch  had 
voluntarily  and  naturally  assumed,  deciding,  acting 
and  directing  in  the  same  thought,  apparently. 

"  Your  wife,  with  Miss  Pynsent,"  said  Couch 
abruptly,  without  looking  round — "  at  least  I  pre- 
sume it's  Mrs.  O'Rourke,  from  what  you  say — have 
been  kidnapped  by  a  gang  of  highbinders  and  are 
now  aboard  a  junk  in  the  lower  river,  which  will 
sail  for  God-knows-where  at  the  turn  of  the  tide. 
That's  the  only  thing  that  saves  'em.  We'll  be 
on  'em  before  they're  able  to  force  a  way  down  the 
river." 

O'Rourke  groaned,  holding  his  head  with  both 
hands.  "  My  wife  .  .  .  ! "  he  said  brokenly. 

"  I  know,"  Couch  interrupted  grimly ;  "  I  know 
how  you  feel.  Miss  Pynsent  is  there,  too,  you  see." 

"  Oh,"  said  O'Rourke,  "  I  didn't  understand  that. 
.  .  .  I'm  sorry."  He  dropped  a  hand  on  the 
younger  man's  shoulder  and  let  it  rest  there  briefly. 
"  Please  God,"  he  said  reverently,  "  there'll  be  many 
another  polluted  yellow  soul  yammering  at  the  gates 
of  hell  this  night !  " 

"  Amen !  "  said  Couch.  .  .  .  "We  sha'n't  be 
long  now." 


338  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

Silently  O'Rourke  removed  his  coat  and  waist- 
coat, his  collar  and  lawn  tie,  and  turned  back  his 
cuffs.  "  Evening  clothes  are  hardly  the  thing  to 
fight  in,"  he  said ;  "  but  I'm  thinking  'twon't  make  a 
deal  of  difference  to  me.  Got  any  cartridges  for  a 
Webley  mark  IV?  " 

"Wheeler  has.  Give  Colonel  O'Rourke  a  few, 
Wheeler,"  said  Couch,  addressing  the  orderly. 

The  latter  rummaged  in  a  locker  and  pressed  into 
O'Rourke's  hand  half  a  dozen  cartridges,  with  which 
the  adventurer  proceeded  to  replenish  the  empty 
chamber  in  his  revolver. 

"  I'd  only  discharged  one,"  he  observed,  "  but 
'tis  likely  we'll  need  that,  even,  with  only  the  three 
of  us  against  a  junk-load." 

"  Oh,  I  telephoned  for  reinforcements,  of  course," 
returned  Couch.  "  They  ought  to  be  there  ahead 
of  us." 

"  What  did  the  coolie  tell  ye,  if  ye've  time  to 
talk?  " 

Couch  laughed.  "  I  daresay  you're  wondering 
how  I  made  him  speak  at  all." 

"  That's  the  true  word  for  ye." 

"  I  threatened  to  cut  off  his  silly  pigtail  and  send 
him  naked  and  dishonoured  to  the  ghostly  halls  of 
his  ancestors.  It's  wonderful  how  much  those  cal- 
lous brutes  dote  on  that  decoration.  I  told  him, 
further,  that  if  he  lied,  when  I  found  it  out  Fd 
return  and  shave  him  bald  as  an  egg,  even  if  he 


CHAPTER    THIRTY-SIX  339 

were  dead  by  that  time.  So  I  persuaded  the  truth 
from  him,  the  whole  story — from  his  side  of  it." 

"  I'm  listening.     .     .     ." 

"  He  confessed  he  was  in  the  pay — like  these 
chaps  we're  after  now — of  a  highly  respectable 
Chinese  merchant  and  head  of  one  of  the  tongs — 
one  of  the  richest  men  in  Rangoon,  who,  it  seems, 
was  also  after  that  ruby.  I  can't  imagine  what  he 
wanted  of  it,  but  that'll  come  out,  probably;  the 
man's  rich  enough  to  buy  dozens  of  stones  as  fine. 
However  ...  I  gather  he'd  laid  his  plan  far 
ahead.  The  coolie  intimated  you'd  been  watched 
all  the  way  from  Bombay.  At  all  events,  the  brutes 
were  ready  when  you  arrived ;  Sypher  was  a  doomed 
man  from  the  moment  you  handed  over  the  Pool 
of  Flame.  They  surrounded  his  house  this  night, 
coming  up  from  the  river,  just  as  soon  as  it  was 
dark  enough  to  conceal  their  actions.  Then  they 
found  a  third  element  in  the  business — your  friend 
Des  Trebes,  all  unsuspicious  of  them,  lurking  on  the 
veranda  and  watching  Sypher  through  the  window. 
So  they  waited  to  see  what  he  was  up  to.  And 
pretty  soon  they  found  out.  Sypher  came  down- 
stairs, went  to  the  safe  and  opened  it;  I  presume 
he  had  the  stone  in  his  hand,  ready  to  put  away. 
While  he  was  standing  there  the  Frenchman  slipped 
up  behind  and  stabbed  him,  annexing  the  stone 
and  leaving  the  way  he  got  in.  The  instant  he 
stepped  off  the  veranda  the  Chinese  got  him;  but 


340  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

he  managed  to  scream  before  they  could  silence 
him  and  drew  the  attention  of  the  household,  Miss 
Pynsent,  your  wife  and  the  servants.  So  to  cover 
things  up  they  had  to  gather  them  all  in.  The 
servants  were  killed — there  were  three  of  them — 
and  the  women  .  .  ." 

Neither  man  spoke  for  a  time.  Then  Couch  re- 
sumed. 

"  This  coolie  was  an  outsider — a  servant  of  the 
merchant's — not  one  of  the  junk  gang;  so  he  stayed 
ashore,  and  thought  it  would  be  a  fine  young 
scheme  to  return  and  do  a  little  looting  on  his  own. 
.  .  .  I've  telephoned  the  head  office  to  arrest  that 
cursed  merchant  and  confiscate  his  house  and  goods 
and  detain  anybody  they  could  catch  connected 
with  him.  The  net's  well  enough  laid,  and  I 
think  .  .  ." 

The  lights  of  the  city  became  visible,  strung  along 
the  right  bank  of  the  river  as  the  launch  rounded 
a  bend.  Couch  swung  the  little  boat  out  into  mid- 
stream. "  Half-speed,  Wheeler,"  he  said,  adding 
to  O'Rourke:  "I've  got  to  pick  out  that  junk. 
I  presume  the  right  one  will  have  all  sail  set  and 
be  moving  downstream  with  the  tide;  it's  just  on 
the  turn  now  and  fortunately  there's  no  wind  worth 
mentioning.  ...  I  wish  I  could  see  something 
of  the  other  launch."  He  peered  anxiously  into 
the  obscurity  ahead.  "  If  there  were  only  star- 
light  ! "  he  complained  bitterly.  "  Stand  by, 


CHAPTER    THIRTY-SIX  341 

Wheeler,  to  stop  the  motor.  We'll  drop  alongside 
with  the  current,  as  quietly  as  we  can.  Colonel 
O'Rourke,  will  you  get  forward  and  take  the  boat- 
hook  and  headwarp,  please ;  I'm  needed  at  the  wheel 
and  Wheeler  at  the  engine  until  we  make  fast." 

Cautiously  the  Irishman  rose,  took  the  boathook 
Couch  offered  him,  and  crept  out  upon  the  narrow 
triangle  of  deck  at  the  bows.  Crouching  there,  he 
found  the  headwarp  and  waited,  tense  with  anxious 
expectancy,  staring  ahead  in  futile  effort  to  pene- 
trate the  wide,  shadowy  reaches  of  the  river.  But 
the  mystical  distances  confused  and  eluded  him. 
The  launch  seemed  to  move,  panting,  in  an  abyss  of 
night.  She  made  little  noise :  a  hiss  of  water  beneath 
her  stem ;  the  steady  humming  of  the  motor,  throt- 
tled down  to  half  speed;  the  muffled  gasping  of  the 
exhaust.  And  presently  even  these  ceased  at  a  word 
from  Couch,  and  the  launch  moved  only  with  the  tide. 

And  still  O'Rourke  could  not  discern  the  junk. 
A  fever  boiled  in  his  veins ;  he  found  it  difficult  to 
breathe.  .  .  .  The  damp  river  air  swam  past 
his  face,  gratefully  cool.  Dark  bulking  shadows 
glided  by  on  either  hand,  as  if  they  moved  and  the 
launch  itself  were  motionless.  He  was  conscious  of 
the  yellow  glimmer  of  riding-lights,  shining  high  in 
confused  tangle  of  spars  and  rigging  that  loomed 
spectrally  against  a  sky  only  a  shade  lighter  than 
the  lower  world.  .  .  .  On  the  southern  horizon 
heat  lightning  played  like  a  naked  sword;  and  he 


343  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

thought,  with  a  pang  in  his  heart,  of  another  night 
in  Monte  Carlo. 

Abruptly  a  towering  wall  of  opaque  black  rose  out 
of  the  darkness  to  starboard.  He  braced  himself 
for  the  imminent  instant  of  action,  poised  so  lightly 
upon  his  toes  and  fingertips  that  a  swell  from  a 
moving  vessel  would  have  thrown  him  off  his  bal- 
ance, perhaps  overboard.  The  launch  closed  swiftly 
and  silently  in  upon  the  black  wall ;  it  towered  over 
him  like  a  cliff;  far  above  he  could  see  dim  divisions 
between  black  and  black  that  must  be  the  rail.  And 
he  shook  his  head,  dismayed ;  he  could  never  scale 
that,  he  thought;  not  even  the  O'Rourke  could  ac- 
complish a  miracle.  But  in  a  breath  it  had  faded 
back,  and  he  realised  that  the  towering  poop  of  the 
junk  had  misled  him.  They  were  now  alongside  at 
the  waist.  He  stood  up  and  saw  a  low  railing  mov- 
ing past,  breast  high,  thrust  out  with  the  boathook 
and  caught  it  over  the  edge  of  the  rail,  drew  the 
launch  in,  let  go  the  boathook  and,  with  the  head- 
warp  wrapped  about  his  hand,  jumped  blindly. 

Something  dealt  him  a  vicious,  all  but  paralysing, 
blow  in  the  pit  of  the  stomach ;  he  doubled  up,  for  a 
moment  helpless,  across  the  junk's  rail,  but  retained 
sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  hold  on  to  the  headwarp. 
Then,  recovering  a  trifle,  he  squirmed  over  and  fell 
sprawling  upon  the  deck,  his  heels  drumming  an 
abrupt  and  violent  alarm.  From  somewhere  he  heard 
a  shrill  jabbering  arise,  with  an  ensuing  patter  of 


CHAPTER    THIRTY-SIX  843 

bare  feet.  Swiftly  he  got  upon  his  knees  and  drew 
in  the  headwarp,  with  his  free  hand  searching  along 
the  rail  for  a  cleat.  Something  thumped  heavily  on 
the  deck  beside  him,  and  grunted ;  and  something  else 
followed  with  a  second  bump ;  and  the  launch  swung 
outboard  and,  caught  by  the  current,  jerked  the 
headwarp  from  his  grasp.  "  May  the  luck  of  the 
O'Rourke  still  hold ! "  he  prayed  fervently,  getting 
upon  his  feet  to  realise  that,  with  Couch  and  the 
man  Wheeler,  he  was  imprisoned  aboard  the  junk, 
doomed  there  to  remain  whatever  might  befall,  until 
the  coming  of  the  second  launch  ...  or  perhaps 
for  a  longer  time. 

As  he  rose  some  indistinct  body  ran  into  him  and 
cannoned  off  with  an  uncouth  yelp ;  with  no  time  to 
draw  his  revolvers,  the  adventurer  stuck  out  with  a 
bare  hand  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  finding  a  goal 
for  his  blow — of  landing  heavily  on  bare  flesh  and  of 
hearing  the  dull  sound  of  a  fall  upon  the  deck. 

Synchronously  lights  were  flashing  out  fore  and 
aft.  A  revolver  spat  venomously  beside  him.  Some- 
where a  man  screamed  and  fell,  whimpering  horribly. 
The  revolver  exploded  a  second  time.  There  were 
confused  noises,  as  of  a  furious  struggle,  rough  and 
tumble,  and  he  suspected  that  one  or  another  of  his 
companions  had  been  tackled  bodily  by  one  of  the 
junk's  crew.  On  his  own  part  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  a  shadow  moving  ghostlike  against  one  of  the 
lights,  and  promptly  exorcised  it  with  a  shot. 


344  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

By  this  time  the  vessel  seemed  to  be  caught  in  the 
grip  of  pandemonium ;  shouts  and  shots  vied  with 
screams,  groans,  confused  padding  footsteps,  to 
make  the  moment  one  of  a  nightmare.  The  board- 
ing party  stood  at  bay,  not  daring  to  venture  from 
the  spot  on  which  they  had  landed,  firing  steadily 
but  with  discretion.  The  man  who  had  been  grap- 
pled with — Wheeler — had  succeeded  in  accounting 
for  his  antagonist  and  now  stood  shoulder  to  shoul- 
der with  Couch.  Did  a  head  shine  in  the  light  of  a 
lantern  or  a  footfall  sound  near  by,  a  bullet  sought 
it,  more  often  than  not  successfully,  if  one  were  to 
judge  from  the  responsive  yells. 

The  unexpectedness  of  the  attack  had  been  their 
strongest  ally,  the  confusion  thereby  created  in  the 
minds  of  the  attacked  an  invaluable  aid.  But  now 
abruptly  they  found  the  tables  turned.  The  initial 
error  on  the  part  of  the  Chinese  in  displaying  lights 
was  remedied ;  they  disappeared  as  if  upon  a  con- 
certed signal,  leaving  the  deck  in  absolute  obscurity. 
With  this  the  firing  ceased,  and  save  for  the  cries 
of  the  wounded,  silence  obtained  where  had  been  a 
chaos  of  discordant  sounds. 

Huddled  together  like  children  in  fear  of  the  pow- 
ers of  darkness,  the  three  held  their  fire  against  the 
inevitable  assault  in  force,  handicapped  fearfully  by 
their  absolute  ignorance  of  the  lay  of  the  deck,  of 
the  number  of  their  opponents,  and  of  from  which 
quarter  they  had  to  expect  the  attack.  And  the 


CHAPTER    THIRTY-SIX  345 

silence  and  the  suspense  wore  upon  their  nerves  until 
the  final  struggle  came  in  the  shape  of  a  boom  to 
save  them  from  madness.  And  it  came  with  a 
rush  and  a  will,  cyclonic,  tremendous,  overpowering. 
By  sheer  weight  of  human  flesh  the  Europeans  were 
pinned  against  the  rail,  fighting  at  handgrips  with 
a  cruel  and  cunning  foe  far  better  prepared  for  such 
business  than  they.  For  at  such  close  quarters  pis- 
tols were  practically  worthless  save  as  clubs,  while 
knives  could  slip  to  slay  through  almost  any  inter- 
stice, however  straitened.  O'Rourke  had  no  time 
to  think  of  his  companions.  Stung  to  desperation  by 
the  silent,  unrelenting  fury  of  his  assailants — twice 
he  was  conscious  of  the  white-hot  agony  of  a  knife- 
thrust,  one  penetrating  the  fles^  of  his  side  and 
scraping  his  ribs,  the  other  biting  deep  into  his 
thigh — he  fired  until  he  had  but  one  cartridge  left 
in  his  revolver,  and  expended  that  blowing  out  the 
brains  of  an  extraordinarily  persistent  coolie,  then 
dropped  the  useless  weapon  and  trusted  to  his  naked 
strength. 

It  served  him  well  for  a  little.  One  man,  precipi- 
tated by  the  weight  of  those  behind  him  into  the  ad- 
venturer's arms,  he  seized  by  the  throat  and  throt- 
tled in  a  twinkling;  then  lifting  him  from  the  deck, 
he  exerted  his  power  to  the  utmost,  and  cast  the 
body  like  a  log  into  the  midst  of  the  melee.  Thus 
clearing  a  little  space,  he  found  himself  able  to  step 
aside  and  let  another  run  past  him  into  the  bulwark ; 


346  THE    POOL   OF   FLAME 

and  seeing  the  sheen  of  a  swordblade  in  the  fellow's 
hand,  before  he  could  recover  seized  his  wrist,  twisted 
it  savagely,  and  wrenched  the  weapon  away. 

It  hung  with  a  strange  balance  in  hands  more 
used  to  the  Continental  rapier  and  broadsword,  but 
it  was  far  better  than  nothing,  and  he  made  shift  to 
employ  it  effectually,  if  at  haphazard.  .  .  . 

The  finale  came  a  moment  later,  signalised  by  a 
blinding  flash  of  light  more  bright  than  that  of  day, 
which  fell  athwart  the  deck  and  illuminated  instan- 
taneously every  inch  of  the  fighting  ground.  Fer- 
vently he  blessed  the  near-by  vessel  that  had  turned 
its  searchlight  on  the  junk.  The  scene  it  revealed 
beggared  the  experience  of  a  man  whose  trade  was 
fighting;  it  fell  upon  decks  slippery  with  blood  and 
littered  with  the  bodies  of  dead  and  wounded;  it  si- 
lenced a  confusion  indescribable.  Upon  that  insane 
turmoil  the  light  fell  with  the  effect  of  a  thunder- 
bolt from  a  clear  sky. 

Screaming  shrilly  in  their  panic,  the  Chinese  scat- 
tered and  fell  away,  leaving  O'Rourke  beside  Couch, 
Wheeler  being  down  and  buried  beneath  three  Chinese 
corpses.  And  instantaneously  something  grated 
harshly  against  the  starboard  side  of  the  junk,  and 
a  man,  his  figure  stark  black  against  the  cold  white 
glare,  leaped  upon  the  rail  and  tumbled  inboard. 
Others  to  the  number  of  a  dozen  followed  him,  swarm- 
ing over  the  decks.  Couch  reeled  towards  them,  bab- 
bling orders  and  instructions. 


CHAPTER    THIRTY-SIX  347 

The  second  launch  had  arrived. 

Sick  and  faint,  O'Rourke  slouched  back  against 
the  rail,  watching  with  lack-lustre  eyes  the  'end  of 
the  chapter.  It  was  simple  to  the  point  of  seem- 
ing farcical  in  comparison  with  that  which  preceded 
it.  The  dazed  and  now  outnumbered  Chinese  of-r 
fered  no  further  resistance.  Disarmed  and  put  un- 
der guard,  they  disappeared  from  his  consciousness, 
while  he  watched  the  men  from  the  second  launch, 
spurred  by  Couch,  scatter  in  search  of  the  abducted 
women. 

Loss  of  blood  was  beginning  to  tell  upon  him; 
his  strength  seemed  altogether  gone ;  his  wits  buzzed 
in  his  head  like  a  swarm  of  gnats.  He  grasped  his 
support  convulsively,  beginning  to  appreciate  how 
seriously  he  was  hurt.  He  heard  as  from  a  great 
distance  thin,  faint  cries  of  men  shouting  in  triumph ; 
saw  Couch,  a  pygmy  shape,  holding  in  his  arms  a  doll 
who  wore  the  face  of  Miss  Pynsent.  Then  of  a  sud- 
den he  was  conscious  of  a  woman  hastening  toward 
him,  a  fantastic  and  incongruous  figure  in  a  dinner- 
gown,  her  skirts  trailing  in  the  slime  of  the  sham- 
bles, her  arms  outheld  to  him;  and  knew  her  for  his 
wife. 

He  essayed  to  speak,  but  could  not.  He  felt  her 
arms  close  about  him.  In  the  face  of  the  search- 
light's penetrating  and  undeviating  glare,  night 
closed  down  upon  him. 


CHAPTER 
THIRTY-SEVEN 

IN  after  days,  when  he  was  altogether  well  and 
whole,  they  journeyed  forth,  these  two,  the  man 
and  his  wife,  from  Rangoon  northward.  The  rail- 
way carried  them  some  distance ;  later  they  struck  off 
with  their  train  into  the  primitive  wilderness  beyond 
the  ulimate  British  outposts  on  the  Chindwine, 
main  tributary  to  the  Irrawaddy. 

The  land  was  peaceful,  hospitable,  and  very,  very 
lovely  in  its  wildness.  Their  happiness  was  ecstasy. 
By  day  they  rode  through  jungle,  wood  and  rolling 
uplands,  or  less  easily  through  the  fastnesses  of  the 
hills,  side  by  side,  thought  linked  to  thought,  their 
hearts  attuned.  By  night  their  camps  were  pitched 
in  a  new-found  world  of  beauty,  wonderful  in  its 
shadowy  mystery.  Sometimes  they  were  the  guests 
of  native  princes  in  their  palaces,  again  they  slept 
a  hundred  miles  from  nowhere,  beside  the  banks  of 
some  rolling  flood  whose  very  name  was  strange  to 
them.  Reunited,  they  lived  as  one  being  in  a  world 
of  iridescent  wonders. 

It  was  so  ordered  that  they  came,  toward  sun- 
down of  a  certain  day,  to  the  foot  of  a  hill  crowned 

348 


CHAPTER    THIRTY-SEVEN  349 

with  a  great  pagoda  of  many  multiplied  roofs 
fringed  with  a  myriad  silver  bells  that  tinkled  cease- 
lessly in  the  evening  airs. 

Here  they  dismounted  and  together  made  the  as- 
cent of  an  age-old  wooden  stairway,  broad  and  easy, 
with  a  rail  of  carven  wood  coloured  like  a  rainbow, 
and  thronged  from  the  first  rise  to  the  last  with 
weary  pilgrims,  beggars,  lepers,  laughing  children, 
mendicant  holy  men.  The  sun  was  low  upon  the 
horizon  when,  having  bribed  their  way  along  that 
gauntlet,  O'Rourke  and  his  bride  (she  could  never 
be  aught  less  to  him)  attained  to  the  topmost  plat- 
form and,  having  received  permission,  with  meet 
show  of  reverence  entered  the  temple. 

It  was  very  dark  inside  and  for  a  time  they  moved 
blindly  in  and  out;  but  at  length  they  came  to  a 
massive  doorway  looking  toward  the  West,  and  here 
they  paused,  hand  in  hand,  looking  up  to  the  placid 
face  of  a  huge  Buddha  who,  squatting  cross-legged 
upon  a  pedestal,  looked  through  the  incense-scented 
gloom  ceaselessly  forward  to  Nirvana. 

The  figure,  carven  originally  from  stone,  had  been 
so  heavily  plastered  with  gold-leaves  by  the  devout, 
that  now  it  had  all  the  semblance  of  being  gold  to 
its  core ;  and,  lavishly  decorated  with  necklaces  and 
bracelets  of  rare  jewels  set  in  crusted  gold,  in  the 
evening  glow  it  shone  like  some  great  lamp  of  holi- 
ness. Only  its  face  was  in  shadow. 

Slowly  the  light  struck  higher  beneath  the  eaves 


350  THE    POOL    OF   FLAME 

of  the  pagoda,  and  slowly  it  crept  up  and  yet  up, 
until  its  last  blood-red  shaft  revealed  the  Buddha's 
forehead  and  what  was  set  therein,  a  monstrous 
ruby. 

The  woman  gasped  faintly  and  clung  tightly  to 
her  husband's  arm.  He  held  her  close,  watching  the 
great  stone  flame  and  throb  and  pulse,  like  a  pool  of 
living  flame  swimming  in  darkness. 

And  then  the  light  of  the  world  went  out. 

Pensively  in  the  dusk  they  descended  the  temple 
staircase.  At  the  foot,  before  they  remounted  their 
horses,  the  woman  came  to  the  man  and  put  her 
hands  upon  his  shoulders. 

"  Terence,"  she  said,  "  I  think  I  am  very  weary. 
Take  me  home." 

He  gathered  her  into  his  arms. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  "  it  frightened  me — made  me 
fearful  of  this  country — the  Pool  of  Flame,  up 
there." 

"  Ye've  seen  the  last  of  it,"  he  said  tenderly,  "  and 
so  have  I.  'Tis  done  with,  like  the  days  of  me  ad- 
venturings.  I  have  no  thought  but  you,  dear  heart. 
Let  us  go  home." 


THE   END 


A     000  071  985     6 


